


Over The Top

by starfish422



Category: Twilight - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Angst, Gay Male Character, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-17
Updated: 2010-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:47:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 164,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfish422/pseuds/starfish422
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slash: Edward is an unabashed pleasure-seeker, one of the club kings of the Seattle gay community. One night at his favorite club, he meets an enigmatic man who rocks the world he has created. Explicit sexuality/language/mature themes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **  
> Original characters, storyline and settings are the property of the author, starfish422. This story is a work of fiction; based in part on characters created by Stephenie Meyer. Recognizable characters and names belong to her. At no time has the author charged or accepted remuneration related to this story.**

-o-

The dance floor is a seething mass of flesh, swaying in sync with the bass that shakes the club to its foundations. Topless boys gyrate with the heavy rhythm, reflecting the colorful club lights that dance over the sheen of sweat glistening on their smooth bodies.

From my vantage point on the mezzanine, I can see most of the club: the beefy bartenders in their standard uniform – tight black pants and little else; the DJ in his booth, ignoring those who tap on the glass in an attempt to request their favorites; the club dancers, their rolling hips all clad in tonight's matching outfits of white briefs, and topped with sparkling silver halos and downy wings.

But mostly I see the boys. We're men, really; well, most of us are, anyway. But when we're here, we're boys. Twinks, bears; tops, bottoms, and switch-hitters; the odd leather daddy has strayed from the leather bar down the street. And then, there are the beautiful ones. The ones who could take home almost anyone in the club, from the front door to the back room. The ones who've been around for more than a couple of years, _have_ gone home with almost everyone at one time or another.

Tonight they're all here, each sweating and pounding out the beat in one long, continuous movement. My eyes sweep across the faces I've seen here so many times before; and I wonder whether I, too, have already been with every bottom here. Not that it matters all that much; a few were actually decent fucks. In the absence of other options, I decide to seek one out for a repeat engagement, something I rarely grant.

I spy one of them on the dance floor. He's already looking up at me, and when we make eye contact he smiles and licks his lips. Subtle as a sledgehammer, even for a meat market like this place. I manage to stifle a sigh by reminding myself that he gave great head, an art in which many boys are woefully unskilled. I acknowledge his flirtation with a slight thrust of my chin and a lift of my eyebrow; and I turn to make my way through the crowd, to the stairs that will lead me to the dance floor.

I start down the stairs, passing an acquaintance on the way. "Hey, how's it goin', Edward?" I nod and continue down the stairs, not interested in conversation. I look again to the dance floor, to be sure of the location of my conquest before I'm submerged in the heaving sea of bodies. He's waiting for me, out in the middle of the floor. I'm about to step off the bottom step when something catches my eye on the far side of the club, across the dance floor.

The club lights are glinting red and blue off a mop of curly blonde hair. The hair belongs to a tall boy who stands at the edge of the writhing mass of the dance floor. He holds a drink and appears to be unaffected by the music's pounding beat as he observes the activity on the dance floor. He's new here; and not some underage twink who came out of the closet yesterday and just hit the clubs for the first time – this boy is 25, maybe 26. Around my age.

I stop for a second, weighing my options. I'm easily one of the better-looking tops here, but this boy is an unknown; definitely not a sure thing. I decide to hedge my bets, and gesture to my waiting conquest on the dance floor, that I'm going to grab a drink and be back with him. He smiles broadly and returns to dancing, confident that I'll return.

I move in the direction of the bar, thinking a drink isn't a bad idea. I order my usual double Glen Livet, neat, keeping an eye on the boy at the edge of the dance floor. He hasn't moved from the space he's been occupying since I first spied him. It won't be long till the sharks here smell fresh blood and start to move in. I pick up my drink and move in his direction, debating the best method of approach.

I take a wide berth around him. He hasn't yet made eye contact with me, and for now I'm glad; I don't want to have my hand forced before I'm sure. I slowly approach him from behind. I take in the dark blue jeans that cover his long legs and slim hips; the soft-looking grey sweater that fits snugly, showing off his broad shoulders; and the way his blonde curls tumble towards his chin, tucked softly behind his ears, ending in a shorter cut at the back. As I near him, I can see that he's a couple of inches taller than my 6'1".

I decide that if I'm going to have this boy in my bed tonight, I need to pull out all the stops. I step in close to his back, lift my chin a bit to meet his ear, and deliver the line that has never failed me.

"I want to make you sit on my nine-inch cock."

I take a small step back to allow him room to turn to look at me. He does turn, much more slowly than I'm hoping for; and finally looks at me. My breath catches and I'm looking into the most beautiful, finely-featured face I've ever seen in my life. He has high cheekbones, a small cleft in his chin, and sparkling, deep-set eyes ringed with a fringe of dark eyelashes. His mouth is wide, with delicate, exquisite lips. I feel my cock twitch as my eyes trace the lines of that mouth.

All of this I process before realizing that his splendid face is registering no emotion whatsoever. He is regarding me with utter calm, and my cards are now on the table. Worse, he hasn't spoken. I make a valiant effort to mirror his lack of expression, though I have no idea whether he finds me attractive, repulsive or even mildly amusing. We are standing only inches away from each other, and the long seconds are ticking by.

From the corner of my eye, I see the twink from the dance floor. He's clearly been looking for me; and he's found me, in this bizarre stand-off with the impassive blonde. And now he's coming towards us. Inwardly, my confidence is beginning to wane, and I'm not sure how much longer I can maintain a façade of outward calm.

The twink is standing beside us now, looking between me and the blonde. Neither of us have moved or made any effort to acknowledge his presence beside us. Dance Floor Twink finally whines, "Edward, I thought you were coming back to dance?"

The blonde blinks, and slowly turns toward the twink, breaking our gaze. He casts his eyes deliberately downward, to meet Dance Floor Boy's gaze, at least six inches below his own. "Fuck off," are the only words he spares to let the twink know he's not welcome in this small gathering. He then returns his gaze to me and for the first time, his eyes move downward over my body. My body responds to his appraising eyes, and my cock begins to lengthen and harden.

Dance Floor Boy hesitates a moment, as though he might protest the loss. The blonde doesn't bother to look at him again as he calmly says, "Don't make me say it again." The twink accepts his defeat and departs – in which direction, I can't say.

The blonde's eyes return to mine. For the first time, he directs his words to me. "Nine inches, Edward?"

I'm not confident that I can speak without losing the demeanor I'm desperately trying to maintain, but I realize I can't remain mute indefinitely. "Nine inches…," I trail off, not knowing his name.

"Jazz," the blonde supplies.

"Nine inches, Jazz," I confirm.

He steps to close the very few inches between us. His free hand circles my waist and pulls me towards him. His body is angled to mine and his upper thigh presses against my cock, which is now uncomfortably hard in my slim jeans. For the first time, his face registers interest as his eyes widen slightly and one eyebrow rises.

"I hope you aren't exaggerating. I hate to be disappointed," he cautions. I don't respond. I'm certainly not used to being challenged on that question, I suppose because most of the boys here already know I'm well-endowed.

Instead, I offer, "My place?"

He nods and says, "Mine isn't unpacked."

As much as I suspected. We head towards the front door, setting our glasses the bar as we pass it. "You're new to Seattle." It's not a question. He's never been to this club before, at least not in the four years I've been here.

"I'm from Seattle originally, but I haven't lived here for years." This is all he volunteers, and I don't push. I'm looking for a fuck, not researching a book.

We reach my Volvo. I'm grateful for the short trip to my apartment, as we spend it in complete silence.

Not bothering to wait for the elevator, we climb the two flights of stairs to my loft. I unlock and open the large, heavy industrial door, holding it for Jazz and then closing it behind him. I wait for the inevitable, "This is a great apartment," but this time it doesn't come.

I ask, "Do you want a drink?"

"No, thanks," he replies curtly.

I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and chug half of it before the headache from the cold water forces me to stop. He is still standing near the door, watching me.

"Bedroom's that way," I gesture with my head. He kicks off his shoes at the door, and heads in the direction of the bedroom. I follow, taking in his lithe, graceful movements as he casually crosses the room and mounts the two steps to my room. The lighting is better here than the foggy, pulsing lights of the club; and I can better appreciate the muscular definition of his thighs and shoulders through his tight-fitting clothes.

He turns to face me, still regarding me dispassionately. I reach out to trace the deep V neck of his soft grey sweater, crossing the smooth, pale skin of his chest. My fingers continue down towards the button of his jeans, sliding over the six-pack I can feel through the thin knit. Down, crossing the waistband of his jeans and gliding the back of my finger towards the base of his zipper. His face may be calm; but his hard cock betrays his excitement. I'm tiring of his cool demeanor now; it's time for this boy to realize what he's got here. I grasp his hard cock, firmly through his jeans; and I'm rewarded as his eyes close, his head lolls back a bit and his exquisite lips part slightly.

I need to taste those lips and what's behind them. I grasp the waistband of his jeans and pull him, hard, towards me; my other hand goes up to tangle in the soft curls at the back of his head and I pull his face to mine. His still-parted mouth opens wider and a soft moan escapes from him as I trace his lips with my tongue. His tongue comes out to meet mine, and they tangle together.

His hands slide over my back and down to my ass, kneading and cupping it as he pulls my hips to his. I break our kiss and my lips and tongue slide down his neck, sucking and nibbling towards his collarbone. He moans again, louder and huskier, and grinds his hard cock against mine. I need to see more of him, and my hands hook under the bottom of his sweater and push upwards. He releases my hips to raise his arms. When he's free of his sweater, my own follows quickly, and we're skin-to-skin. He's smooth, only a few hairs decorating the small valley between his pecs, and a small trail leading south from his navel and disappearing under his jeans.

My head dips down and I suck on his nipple, pinching the other between my fingers, and they both turn to small marbles under my touch. He allows me to continue for a few moments, resting his cheek against the top of my head; then he pulls away and drops to his knees in front of me.

He's panting as he unbuttons my jeans and slides them down over my hips. My boxer briefs follow quickly, and my cock finally springs free, rock-hard and aching with need. His eyes widen slightly at the sight of me, and it's clear that his earlier warning about disappointment is unnecessary here. My cock twitches as this realization takes hold, and in impatience, my hands cup his face and I stroke his cheeks with my thumbs, encouraging him to take me into his mouth.

Finally, his tongue snakes out and he licks the underside of my shaft from the base to the tip, collecting the small drop of pre-cum that has gathered there. He smacks his lips a bit and, finally, I see a beautiful smile light up his face as he tastes me. He has deep dimples in his cheeks, and his mouth is impossibly wide in his grin. He doesn't make me wait again; he opens wide and sucks the head of my cock into his mouth. I groan as his tongue swirls around the glans, and when he increases the suction my knees buckle and I realize I won't be able to take this standing up.

I break contact for a brief moment, moving onto the bed and pulling him with me. We each quickly shed the rest of our clothing; he pushes me onto my back and, leaning over me, resumes his attentions to my stiff cock. He quickly takes my entire length down his throat; I gasp as I feel his lips brush against my pubic hair, and my hips involuntarily thrust forward. Slowly he slides his lips back up towards the head of my cock, holding there for a moment as his tongue dances around the glans, then quickly plunges downward again. He is an exceptionally talented boy, and I'm realizing very quickly that he can work magic with that beautifully wide mouth.

One of his hands comes up to grasp the base of my cock, the other goes to my balls and starts to stroke them. He establishes a rhythm, sliding my cock in and out of his mouth. His lips are incredibly soft and smooth. He keeps a steady vacuum of pressure, and the sensation of fucking his mouth is unbelievable. After only a few moments of heaven, I can feel the tension building in my balls; I won't last long under his adept ministrations.

He senses my impending release and, unbelievably, he stops. I groan as he pulls his head away from my cock and grins wickedly at me. "Not yet," is all he says, and tugs on my legs to indicate that I should raise my knees, my feet flat on the bed. He lies on his stomach with his head between my legs, and leaning in, slurps one of my balls into his mouth. The sensation is sublime as he rolls it around his mouth, massaging it gently with his tongue, lightly pulling the sac away from my body.

"Fuck!" I groan loudly, and in response, he brings one finger to his mouth, moistening it; then slides it down to my ass and massages the puckered opening. I pull away slightly at first; I'm firmly a top, and the very few times I allowed myself to bottom, shortly after coming out, were rough and very painful. I haven't done it since; it's been years.

He releases my balls from his mouth. "Shh," he soothes. "Gentle – I promise." I bite my lip; this is not something I ever allow, and many have tried to convince me to let them. This boy, new to the community, obviously doesn't realize this. I should enlighten him.

Instead, I find myself reaching to my nightstand, where a bottle of Wet is always at the ready. I hand it to him and he applies it liberally to his fingers and to my ass. I relax into the sensation as he resumes his massage of my asshole; the lube both eases and heightens the motion as his fingers glide over the sensitive tissues. My mouth is open, panting as he inserts one finger, then two. Slowly he starts to finger-fuck my ass, easing his fingers in and out, massaging my prostate as his fingertips move past it. Soon my hips are bucking in response, and I'm astonished at my own reaction. I lift my head to look down at him, and he's grinning widely back at me, clearly enjoying the sight of me getting off on his fingers in my ass.

He winks and his mouth returns to the head of my cock, sucking it like a lollipop, before again taking my entire length down his throat. He establishes a steady rhythm between my cock and my ass, sliding his fingers out as his head bobs down, then thrusting his fingers back in as his lips glide upwards. I put a couple of pillows under my head so I can watch his beautiful mouth work over my shaft.

My senses are overloading with the incredible combination of both feeling and watching what he's doing to me. In just a few moments, my entire body tenses and I shout my impending release. The orgasm takes hold of me, and I have never experienced something so intense. My entire body is racked with spasms as the waves of pleasure wash over me again and again, and the beautiful boy sucking my cock takes every drop of cum I give him. Watching him swallow my load is the sexiest thing I've ever seen in my life, something I know I'll relive in fantasies for a long time to come.

As my climax finally subsides, he releases the hold he has on my body, flashes that impossibly dazzling smile, and slides his body up so that his head rests beside mine. I grab his face in my hands and pull his lips to mine, invading his mouth with my tongue, tasting myself in him; wordlessly thanking him for the gift he's just given me. His hands slide into my messy bronze hair as our tongues do a slow dance.

Gradually we break our kiss, and my breathing starts to return to normal. He leans into my chest as he reaches toward something on my nightstand; I hear him fishing around in the bowl of condoms that never leaves my bedside. _Jesus,_ I think, _what does he think I am? A machine?_ He can't possibly expect me to be ready to put on a condom yet, mere moments after one of the best orgasms of my life.

I arch an eyebrow at him, and he mirrors my expression back to me, as though asking what I could possibly object to. He's going to make me say it.

"You're hot, Pretty, but even I can't get it up again that quickly," I say, trying to be nonchalant. It comes out as more of a sneer than I want it to, and his face hardens slightly.

"It's not going on you, _Pretty,_ " he hisses, and raises his body to kneel on my bed. I experience a moment of confusion, then dismay as I realize what he's implying. He confirms my suspicions as he slowly strokes his own cock, his eyes never leaving my face. He expects to fuck me. My post-orgasm glow evaporates rapidly as I silently curse myself for allowing him to put his fingers anywhere near my ass.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing? Do I _look_ like a bottom to you?" The sneer is no longer unintentional – I need to adjust his expectations, and quickly.

He leans forward, hands palm-down on the bed, his face hovering over mine. "What you look like is a gay boy who just had a mind-blowing orgasm thanks to the fingers that were stretching your ass and massaging your prostate. You think you'll ever come like that again if you don't let anyone near your ass?"

"I'm. Don't. Bottom," I repeat slowly, trying to leave no room for misunderstanding.

"You've _never_ done it?" he asks, looking highly skeptical even as the words leave his mouth.

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. It's something I'd rather not think about, but he's just not going to let this go. "Yes, fine. A couple of times, when I was a 16-year-old twink and didn't know any better than to let some middle-aged closeted asshole tear my ass to shreds."

I open my eyes again and he's still inches away from my face, looking unwaveringly into my eyes. "So you were naïve when you were a teenager. Join the club. You're going to allow yourself to miss out on the most intense physical sensation you'll ever have, because you made a few bad decisions a decade ago?"

I vaguely register that his eyes are nearly the same color green as mine, even as I wonder what his motivation is in this. There's no way he could have mistaken me for a bottom – I came on to him and made it clear that I intended to fuck him. And yet he came home with me; he must have known that I, like most tops, would reject attempts to get near my ass. It doesn't make sense. By now, most boys would have given up and stepped back into the Prada shoes that would carry them back to the club, where there would be at least twenty boys waiting with open mouths. Certainly for this boy, it wouldn't be difficult for him to just get his rocks off with some nameless twink who would be happy to spread his ass wide. What the fuck kind of game is he playing with me?

-o-

 **If you're a QAF fan, you'll notice some crossover. I was definitely picturing Babylon when writing the club, and Brian's loft is the inspiration for Edward's apartment.**


	2. Chapter 2

-o-

"So you're just a model homo citizen doing a good deed," I sneer. "And this is entirely for my benefit." Sure it is.

"I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to do," he intones softly. "But don't short-change yourself because you're scared."

Jesus Christ – who did I bring home, a fucking sex therapist? I bristle, and my words are laced with venom. "Thanks for your expert opinion, Doctor. You've managed to flawlessly dissect my psyche after we've exchanged fewer than fifty words. Your powers of analysis are truly dazzling." His expression hardens a bit at this and he starts to speak, but I continue, "It's admirable that you're so concerned with my experience, _Jazz,_ " I stress his name mockingly. "But it doesn't seem fair that this 'intense physical experience' should be mine alone, does it? I couldn't let you make that sacrifice." I'm being every bit as insincere as I believe he is; and I feel confident that I've called his bluff now.

His beautiful face, which earlier tonight was so entirely devoid of emotion, has flashed at least three different emotions at me in just a few seconds. First persuasion; then annoyance as I mocked his intentions; and now, infuriatingly, he actually looks _amused_. His voice is even and deliberate as he says, "You give me credit for more selflessness than I deserve, Edward. I have no intention of missing out, believe me. I promise, you'll have the same pleasure – or rather, you'll be giving me the pleasure. Tonight." With those words, he sits back on his heels and resumes slowly caressing the length of his cock, his eyes never leaving mine.

Unbelievably, I find myself actually considering his words. It's true that I've been afraid to bottom – not just because of the physical pain of my first experiences, but because of how the experiences impacted me emotionally. The men I'd been with were the kind who would never be able to admit openly that they were gay. They were the kind who tucked their wedding bands into their pocket as they came through the door of the gay bars, trolling for a receptacle so they could get off before they headed back to their nice houses in the suburbs. They were ashamed of themselves, and projected their shame onto me – treating me as though what I was doing made me weak and disgraceful.

Those first few times had scarred me more than I had ever admitted to anyone. It took me a long time to get over it. I'd been horrified by them; I was angry that I allowed myself to be used by nameless men who didn't even have balls enough to admit their sexuality. I promised myself I would never again allow anyone to put me into that submissive role. I've been absolutely unwavering in my decision, and never have I had reason to suspect that I might be wrong. I'm Edward fucking Cullen, for god's sake. I'm the boy everybody wants to blow, who everyone wants to get fucked by.

And now this beautiful, enigmatic boy is kneeling in front of me, with his green eyes and his curls and his sweet mouth; and he's telling me that the rules I've put in place are restricting me instead of protecting me. And I'm considering his words. And he's stroking his cock, and god, it's such a beautiful fucking cock; and I'm getting hard again at the memory of his fingers in my ass; and fuck, I actually miss having them inside me.

The blood is pounding in my ears as I sit up to bring my eyes to his level. I know what I'm going to do, and I'm absolutely fucking terrified. But I know what I'm going to do. I slide my ass closer to him, between his knees which are still pressing into the surface of the bed. I bring my legs up so that they're on either side of his body, my thighs resting on his thighs, my feet resting on his behind him. I look at the bedspread beside him, where the condom he'd held is lying. My hands are shaking as I pick it up, tear the packet and pull it out. My eyes return to his, and I know what I'm going to do.

He's smiling now, not the wide grins he has flashed me before, but a soft, warm smile that illuminates his entire face. I place one hand on top of his on his cock, and squeeze gently as we stroke together. Even over top of his hand I realize that he's exceptionally well-endowed, not only in length but in girth as well. The realization strikes a brief pang of fear into the pit of my stomach, and I shudder lightly with anticipation and arousal. With my other hand I place the condom over the head of his penis. He brings his free hand to my face and gently, gently, he strokes my cheek, looking into my eyes. He whispers soft words of encouragement to me as I unroll the condom down to the base of his cock.

This night has become nothing like I've ever encountered, and when I approached this beautiful boy at the club, I could never have imagined what would unfold for me. I don't love – I fuck. Unequivocally. I have never apologized or regretted the life I have. I have never experienced, nor have I sought, tenderness in my liaisons.

But this boy, this nymph, has somehow cast a spell over me, with his hair and his eyes and his lips…but most of all, with his words. He's broken through the walls I have so carefully crafted for myself. I can't explain how – I'm bewildered to fathom it. I find that I have not only considered his suggestion, but I actually desire it. I want him to possess me in a way that, an hour ago, I'd have considered an unspeakable violation. Somehow, in the midst of the hazy confusion of my brain, I know unmistakably that this act will not be one of humiliation or domination. He is going to delight as much in sharing my pleasure as in receiving his own.

He gently pushes me back to lie down on the bed, and lifts both my legs up beside his head, to rest on his shoulders. He again retrieves my bottle of lube, and generously coats the condom. He places one hand on my shoulder and the other on the front of my thigh, hugging my leg to his chest. His cock is pressing gently against my opening, and my breath catches as I realize afresh what's about to happen. Sensing my apprehension, his hand moves again to gently stroke my cheek. Softly he whispers, "Is this okay?" And the fact that he's asking is the sexiest fucking thing.

I smile and nod, and he says, "Okay, beautiful. A little bit of pain now; it'll only hurt for a minute." And he pushes just the head of his cock into my ass. He's right, it does hurt for a moment; but the pain is nothing compared to the horrible experiences of my youth. He remains motionless to allow my body to adjust to accommodate the foreign body; and as he waits, his hand drifts down from my thigh to gently trace around the rim of my cock head with his fingertip. The feeling is absolutely sublime, and very soon I find myself sliding my body marginally downwards, pressing him a bit deeper into me.

He's big, and the pressure is intense as he slowly slides his cock in. Gradually, deliberately, he presses deeper and deeper, until he is seated fully inside me and his groin is pressing against my skin. I groan as he presses his body into mine, holding his position; my entire body feels like it's on fire. I'm panting and sweating from the combination of pressure, arousal and anticipation. "Still okay?" he checks in, and I can only acknowledge his question with a nod and another groan. "A convert," he chuckles softly. "Good."

Slowly, he starts to rock his hips back and forward, gradually expanding the arc of his movements until he's withdrawing as far as the head of his cock, then descending again to sheath himself fully inside me. Now that he knows I'm okay, he relaxes into his own experience; and his pleasure is evident as his eyes close and his head lolls back. I watch as his lips part and soft moans escape. His body is lithe, graceful even in this most basic and instinctual of acts. He increases the pace bit, and I'm no longer able to think about his graceful body. The only thing that exists in my world is our mutual pleasure, and the organs and orifices involved.

My hand goes down to my cock, rock-hard from the anticipation and the luscious sensations. I palm the underside of my shaft, stroking slowly up and down. It's so sensitive that the contact of my own hand sends shocks throughout me, and my entire body twitches in response.

Jazz pauses his smooth rocking motion, and lifts my legs down from his shoulders, guiding them around his hips. I hook my ankles together and pull him towards me. He allows his body to fall forward, catching himself with his palms on the bed, on either side of my shoulders. His head dips to my chest and he sucks one of my nipples into his mouth. My hands move to his head and I bury my fingers in his soft curls, stroking and riding out the movements of his head. His lips leave my nipples and travel up my pecs, leaving a trail of wet, sucking kisses up across my collarbone, up my neck and finally finding my mouth. His tongue traces my lips, and I suck it into my mouth, caressing it with my own tongue.

Finally, I can no longer stand to let him remain still, and I rock my hips against his, grinding, wordlessly begging for him to keep fucking me. He understands and quickly obliges. One of my hands goes down to rest on his muscular ass, feeling it flex as he pumps in and out of me; the other hand remains in his beautiful curly hair, stroking and fisting as the excitement of our coupling builds. His chest is pressed against mine, his elbows resting on the bed and his hands hooked up over my shoulders, pulling me closer as he pushes deep into me. Everything is breathing and cursing and moaning, sweat-slicked bodies and pressure and intense pleasure. My cock is bursting, captured between my abs and his as our whole selves press tightly against each other, seeking every possible point of contact.

The intensity is reaching a breaking point, and I'm very close to my climax. As though reading my mind, he pulls his face back from mine slightly and hoarsely whispers, "Fuck, you're so beautiful. I want to watch you come." He looks deep into my eyes, and it's all too much. The realization hits me afresh – he's fucking me, and it's simply the best thing I've ever done. My body tenses, I dig my heels into his ass to draw him as deeply inside me as possible, and I shatter. My body thrashes and twists in the intensity of my orgasm. I'm flying, soaring on another plane, a level of pleasure I've never known. I want it like I want a drug.

The uncontrollable spasms of my climax around his cock bring him over the edge, and finally, his careful control is abandoned. His eyes roll back and he roars his exhilaration. The knowledge that he's lost control because of me, is an accelerant on the flame of my orgasm. We ride the waves of ecstasy together, for an impossibly long time. This boy has brought me here, and it's a drug. It seems as though it'll never end, and I don't want it to.

Of course, eventually it does, gradually subsiding, and finally my mind and body are able to re-converge to their rightful place in the here and now. We're gasping deeply for breath, each unwilling to release our grasp on the other. Jazz lays his head on my shoulder, his face nuzzling into the base of my neck. We relish the feel of our bodies still pressed so tightly together, as our breathing slows and our heartbeats return to normal.

Finally, he lifts his face to mine, kisses me gently on the nose, and then, grasping the base of the condom, pulls out. I'm loath to let him, but I know he has to, or risk the condom slipping off his softening cock. He disposes of the condom and then returns to my side, tucking himself under my outstretched arm and lying on his side with his long, muscular arm stretched across my chest. I hold him close to me, burying my face in his deep curls. I inhale deeply and his hair smells like musk and chai spice. I stroke the arm that rests on my chest, feeling the definition of his forearms and cupping my hands around the sinuous bicep.

I'm afraid to speak; I don't know what to say, having been proved so completely wrong. It's not my habit to concede a point, but I'm breaking all the rules now. I sense that any future with Jazz will depend on my actions in this moment; and this singular boy has made me want that option. I _want_ him in my future. I have to tell him he was right; admit to him that, somehow, he saw me more clearly than I saw myself.

"Thank you," I say simply, figuring it's the best place to start. He raises himself onto his elbow, resting his cheek in his hand, and grins at me. His smooth cheeks have a pink flush from our pleasure and exertion, and the stain of color makes his sparkling green eyes brighter.

"So…I guess it went better than you expected," he teases softly.

"I don't have words for how amazing that was," I whisper. "It was…miraculous."

"That's a very _good_ word," he concurs. "I completely agree."

"Yeah?" I'm not used to asking a boy if it was 'good for him' – honestly, I'm not used to _caring_ about it – but I'm a bit out of my depth here, and somehow I want him to say the words, to assure me that he enjoyed it too.

"Well, yeah!" he chuckles. "I would think that was apparent."

We gaze at each other in silence for a moment, until he quirks his head to one side and says, "Penny for your thoughts."

I shake my head as I search for the right words to convey what I'm feeling. "I'm not sure if I can even articulate them yet. There are a lot of thoughts turning over in my head that would have seemed absurd to me a few hours ago. You," I poke my finger gently in his chest, "are a dangerous, subversive boy, Jazz."

At this, he tosses his head back and laughs heartily. His laugh rings throughout my loft like bells, and I find myself joining him. I feel as though I've successfully navigated the post-coital conversation, and I'm feeling giddy with relief. _Edward Cullen giddy?_

After the echoes of our laughter have died, he brings his free hand up to smooth my messy bronze mop away from my damp forehead. He looks into my eyes, deliberating, as though there's something he wants to say. After a moment, his decision is apparently made. "Good to see some things never change."

I'm utterly confused by his cryptic remark, and I wait for him to clarify. When he doesn't, I ask, "Sorry?"

"Your sense of humor hasn't gone anywhere. You always cracked me up, Edward Cullen."

-o-


	3. Chapter 3

_-o-_

" _Your sense of humor hasn't gone anywhere. You always cracked me up, Edward Cullen."_

I'm still completely confused. What the hell is he talking about – my sense of humor? I've never seen him before tonight. And, Edward _Cullen?_ I rack my brain, trying to remember any point tonight when anyone has used my last name in his presence. The twink? No. The bartender? Jazz wasn't there when I got my drink. I am stumped. Short of him snooping through my mail, there's no way he could know my last name.

These thoughts are running through my head as I stumble, "I…I'm…I'm a little lost. We've never met before."

His chin dips down and he looks more directly into my eyes. "You're sure about that?"

Now I'm feeling slightly weirded out, not to mention a little irritated. I do not enjoy being toyed with. "Yes, I'm fairly confident I would remember you."

He says nothing, just holds his gaze, as the corners of his mouth threaten a tiny smile. He seems entirely confident, and I'm starting to second-guess myself. This boy is fucking up my brain. _What_ is he doing to me?

"Okay," he finally concedes, "I guess it's time to come clean."

"Come clean…?" I ask hesitantly. Damn, this sounds ominous. Do I fucking want to know the answer?

"We have met before. It's been a long time, and I'm not surprised you don't recognize me," he begins.

"I honestly don't remember ever having met anyone named Jazz," I interrupt.

"Right. Do you remember someone named…Jasper?" he prompts, almost shyly.

Jasper? That does vaguely ring a bell. I tilt my head to the side and scowl slightly as I search my memory. "Yeah…yeah. I went to high school with a guy name Jasper. Short, skinny blonde kid with glasses and braces. What the hell was his last name…Whitmarsh? Whitford?"

"Whitlock," he says quietly, looking down.

"Whitlock! That's right. He was in the Mathletes!" I chuckle. "Is he a friend of yours?"

He looks at me as though I'm missing something very obvious. And then it fucking smacks me in the head. The Mathlete just fucked me.

"You?" I gasp. I can only imagine the look on my face. This boy…this god? He can't be the same person I remember. "There's no fucking way..."

"Growth spurt after tenth grade," he mutters. "I was a late bloomer."

My mind is reeling. "Wow," is the most profound response I can formulate. We sit in silence for a few moments as I absorb this information. I realize, eventually, that he might be interpreting my silence as anger, rather than shock. I grasp at what seems like the most basic of the many questions running through my head. "So, what happened to you? You didn't come back for our junior year of high school, right?"

"No," he says, with a look of relief. If I can interpret his relief, it's likely that I've asked a pretty innocuous question. "My dad took a transfer with his company, so we moved to Austin, Texas. Then I went to college at University of San Diego. I've been in San Francisco since I finished college. I just moved back to Seattle four days ago; I'm starting a job at Northwest Hospital on Monday."

"Do you still have family in Washington State?" I ask, trying to imagine why someone would leave California to come back here.

"No," he says.

"So it was just the job that brought you back, then," I nod, thinking I understand him.

"Well, that, and…" he hesitates, then softly adds, "I was hoping to find someone I lost contact with."

"Oh." I feel a sting of disappointment that takes me by surprise. Obviously, my interference got in the way of a hoped-for happy reunion. I try to cover my chagrin by adding, in what I hope is an off-handed tone, "Well, maybe it'd be easier to look up his number, instead of standing around in clubs hoping he'll walk by."

"No need," he murmurs. "I already found him."

I can't answer, or even meet his eyes. My life is balancing on the edge of a knife. Either he means me, or he means someone else, and I can't put myself out there. I've already walked out on a limb of his creation tonight, and I can't inch out there any further. My walls are gone, and I know that if I look at him without my walls to hide behind, he's going to see it plainly written on my face, that I want it to be me. And it seems impossible that it could be me, after all this time. And I can't answer.

"Edward," he says. And I can't answer. He leans closer to me, taking my chin gently in his hand and turning my face to him. I have to look at him now. He's going to see it.

I finally meet his gaze, and he sees it. And I see it too, mirrored back to me in the limpid green eyes I've memorized in the past two hours. He leans in close to my face, his hand still on my chin, and he gently presses his lips to mine; a sweet, pure kiss. This kiss isn't about fucking, and it's not about how fast I can get off. This kiss arouses me, but not below the waist; the warmth, instead, is spreading from inside my chest. My cold, dead heart, no longer cold.

My first real kiss.

He breaks it after a long moment and pulls back slightly to look searchingly into my eyes. Apparently satisfied with what he sees, he breaks into a wide grin.

Despite my euphoria, I still have questions about how this impossible turn of events has come about; and I have to clear the haze from my brain, remind myself not to get distracted.

"You took a bit of a chance coming here, though, didn't you? How did you know I was even still in Seattle?" I ask, trying to remember who our mutual friends were in high school. I can't remember a single one – we didn't move in the same social circles in high school; besides, I'm no longer in touch with anyone from that hell hole.

He shrugs. "Google. Your photography has been featured here and there, different magazines. It wasn't difficult to find one that had a little article on you in the 'contributing artists' section. It told me what I needed to know. It also told me that the person who wrote it was clearly smitten with you," he says, laughing out loud.

I grimace, remembering the article he's talking about; then continue with my next question. "I had no idea you were gay, though. You didn't come out in high school, huh?"

"Oh, no," he shakes his head emphatically. "I remember when you came out, though, Edward. Early in 10th grade. By then I already knew I liked guys; but I was nowhere near ready to tell anyone. You were everything I admired and everything I feared, at the same time. You came out! In high school! One of the smart, popular, well-off kids, and you said 'fuck 'em' and you were open. God, I wished I was that strong."

I wince, remembering what my high school life was like after coming out. "Yeah, being the social pariah of the entire school is definitely something to fear. I don't blame you for waiting."

"Well, seeing the way the kids turned on you was difficult enough, definitely. But there was also…" He hesitates here, dropping his head into his hands, and mumbles, "God, this is so fucking humiliating." I wonder what else he can possibly have to drop on me. "I used to…I followed you a few times to the bars you went to, right after you came out."

"I don't remember you being there." I frown, trying to imagine the 15-year-old Jasper in one of those sleazy dives; he'd have stuck out like a sore thumb.

"I didn't go in," he clarifies. "I'd hang around down the block and wait till you came out. Jeez, remembering the classy neighborhoods those places were in, it's a wonder I didn't get my fucking throat slit, skulking around there. Anyways, you know the kind of guys you were with…it's not like they were going to take you home…just a quick fuck in their car and then out you go. I saw you, one night…you got out after the guy was finished, and you sat on the edge of the sidewalk after he drove away. I could hear you…you were crying."

This is painful; he's dredging up the memories of things I have intentionally buried for many years.

He continues, "I had never seen you cry. At school, you were always stoic, even when the other guys were relentless. Seeing you react that way to sex…I thought it must be horrible to be what we are. I can't say it drove me deeper into the closet, because I wasn't ready to come out anyways; but it did delay it a while. Until my second year of college, and then," he shrugs, "that was it. I couldn't deny it anymore, and it didn't seem like such a catastrophic thing to come out. I hooked up with a few guys; and dated someone pretty steadily for a few years, starting in my senior year. But," he adds, "I never stopped thinking about you. You were kind of my first teenage fantasy."

I have to laugh. "I guess some things don't change. Most of the teenagers at Spin fantasize about me, too."

He laughs with me. "Yes, I got to witness your legion of adoring fans in action tonight. Every eye in the place was on you. I saw you before you saw me, when you were on the upper level. I was almost sure it was you. You're taller, of course; and your hair is longer. Still bronze; without the frosted tips, though," he teases, grinning.

"Ugh," I grouse, remembering the ill-advised hair trend of the late 1990s.

"But you still have the Edward Cullen attitude. No one else has that. And when you came over to me, it was unmistakable. Your eyes, your mouth...they're the ones I've had in my head for twelve years, since the first day of ninth grade. Then the twink called you Edward, and I knew."

It's difficult to comprehend that the person I was as a teenager, so impressed this boy that he has continued to think about me all these years; even after maturing into the glorious creature sitting in front of me now. "So…you remembered me from high school, and you witnessed the high points of my wild youth. I'm still confused, though, about why you were so insistent about fucking me. Was it…just the fantasy?" This I say aloud; inside, I'm silently pleading for him to tell me that it was more than that.

"No, it wasn't just about that," he replies. "I know you changed after those experiences, Edward. I was still around school for the rest of tenth grade, after that shit happened to you. You became…hardened. You became the arrogant, "fuck 'em" guy after that stuff. The walls were already coming up. I knew at the club tonight that the walls were there. And I remember what you were like before. You were nice, Edward. You were one of the popular kids, but you didn't make life hell for the unpopular, geeky kids. Remember doing peer tutoring together in ninth grade? You were great at helping out other kids."

His words pierce my heart, because I know the truth. The person he came here hoping to find doesn't exist. If we spend any amount of time together, eventually he'll realize that I am every bit the asshole everyone thinks I am. And when he realizes it, he'll leave to find someone who deserves him. I can't mislead him; it's better that he know now, rather than postpone the inevitable. "I haven't been that guy in a long time," I whisper, shaking my head slowly. "I _am_ the asshole, Jazz. I'm self-centered, and I'm cold. I don't have friends…people don't deal with me more than they have to. The only ones who seek me out are the boys at the clubs who want me to fuck them. I'm sorry; the person you remember…he's gone."

He quirks one eyebrow and gives me a skeptical look. "Really? So the neonatal incubator you donated to the NICU at UCSF Children's Hospital, where you did the photography for the article on preemies last year…those run about $40,000 new, right? Doesn't seem to fit the profile of self-centered asshole."

"Jesus Christ," I sputter, "that was done privately! How the hell do you know that?"

"Mathlete, remember?" he says, tapping his temple with his finger. "My BA is in accounting. The job I just left in San Francisco was finance administration at Children's. The paperwork crossed my desk when the donation was made. I saw the name and I thought it couldn't possibly be the same Edward Cullen – the name isn't _that_ uncommon – but I couldn't ignore it. So I went and asked the NICU nurses. The description the nurses gave me was unmistakable. And they told me you'd been so moved by the preemies that you had tears in your eyes when you were there to photograph them. Hearing that…it gave me reason to hope."

I'm overwhelmed. If I was amazed before, I am now simply blown away at the turn this conversation has taken. "Why didn't you tell me who you were when we were at the club?"

"Um…" He blushes, and the pink stains his cheeks like a pale peony against a smooth white marble statue. "A couple of reasons, I guess. For one…you know, sometimes even when it's been years, you see someone from your high school years and you can immediately be transported back to those days, and all the feelings come rushing back…the awkwardness, the self-consciousness. I didn't know how you'd react to Jasper Whitlock, if you remembered me. Besides," he adds, "you're not the only one who has boundaries. We all have layers of protection in place. 'Jazz' is mine."

"But you managed to see past my mine," I murmur. "No one has ever seen me the way you did."

"Well, it helped that I already had some insight; knowing you years ago, and the donation to the hospital. I wasn't sure, though, when I saw you at the club. You were so detached, even when you came on to me – I thought maybe I had come a long way for nothing more than a fuck. I wanted you, of course; really wanted you. But then we got here, and I started to suck you off, and I felt…something. And I wondered whether anyone had ever touched your heart enough for you to realize that it doesn't have to be shameful to be in a submissive position. When I went for your ass while I was sucking you, your reaction was pretty clear." His fingers trace up the length of my arm and he looks me directly in the eyes. "And suddenly it was important to me that you know that it doesn't have to be the way you were treated by those losers. If it's with the right person, you can give up control without losing yourself. Putting someone else in control of your pleasure once in a while…it's freeing."

"Freeing…" I muse. Can I argue with his logic? Yesterday, I would have; but he's already shown me the truth. Arrogant as I may be, I can't ignore it when the proof is irrefutable. I look at the clock on my night table. It's 1:53 am; just two hours since I came through the door with this boy, and my life is completely fucking unrecognizable. Does it really happen this way? Can an individual, a life – a whole fucking paradigm – change so completely in just a few hours?

"So," Jasper says, drawing a deep breath, "how are you?"

How am I? I'm not certain I have words to describe how I am. I have a lot to think about, and there are still things I have to ask Jasper. But not tonight.

"For now, I'm okay," I say truthfully. "Thank you. You put a lot on the line tonight, and you were really open with me."

"Eventually," he corrects with a smile.

"Fair enough," I concede, then smile wickedly and quirk my eyebrow as I say, "For now, though, I seem to remember a promise you made me earlier this evening…"

-o-


	4. Chapter 4

" _For now, though, I seem to remember a promise you made me earlier this evening…"_

"Yeah?" he asks. His eyebrows lift and he smiles quizzically, as though he's surprised.

"Yeah," I reply. "Did you think I was going to let you forget?"

He leans in with a mischievous smile and asks, "How many gay men do you know who've ever actually forgotten to have sex?"

I throw my head back and laugh heartily, and he joins me. He has a quick wit and an impish way about him; and I wonder how he managed to suppress this ebullient personality long enough to play the inscrutable stranger this evening.

After our laughter subsides, he continues, "I wasn't trying to escape; I just wanted to make sure you're up for it. It's been kind of a big night."

That's a massive understatement. "Indeed - I have a lot to think about. And I'm not through with the questions I have for you. But," I roll up and off the bed in one smooth movement, "I try to strike the proper balance between work and play. And now – it's playtime."

"It's all about priorities," he agrees, trying to look serious; but a smile dances behind his eyes.

"To that end, I'd like to give you a tour of my shower," I offer, holding out my hand. He takes it and I pull him up. Not letting go of his hand, I lead him into my ensuite bath.

This bathroom is the place I spent the most money on renovations when I bought my loft, removing the tub and replacing it with a large, fully tiled custom shower, designed to my specifications. The shower has a glass wall and door at the front, as most tiled showers do. The tile is a deep charcoal color, accented by brushed nickel fixtures. On one wall of the large shower enclosure, there is a deep ledge that rises to slightly below the level of my hip.

I turn on the water, full blast and steaming hot. Jasper – he's not Jazz to me anymore – ducks into the shower ahead of me and stands in the spray, head back, eyes closed, letting the water soak through his soft curls. I follow him and grab my shampoo, squeezing a bit into my palm and then slipping my hands into his hair. He hums his enjoyment as I lather his thick blonde mop, gently massaging his scalp with my fingertips, then running my hands down over his chest and back as the water rinses the bubbles down over his smooth skin. He turns me around and pulls me back to lean gently against his chest so he can return the favor. After he has washed and rinsed my hair, he pours some body wash into his hand and starts to lather it over my chest, slowly moving his palms in circles around my pecs. His fingers dance around my nipples, which harden in spite of the hot water. He pinches them, sending jolts of pleasure throughout my body. His soapy endeavors continue downward, sliding into the valley between my abs and my thigh and slipping under my balls, gently cupping and massaging them.

I am hardening under his touch, and it would be so easy to allow him to ravish me again. I stop him, though, holding his hands above our heads as I rotate to face him. I pull his hands around behind my back, wordlessly asking him to hold me tight to his chest, and he does. My fingers lace together behind his neck and I pull his face to mine, lifting my chin slightly and realizing with surprise, what a delight it is to lift my face to the person I'm going to kiss. Our lips meet and immediately our mouths open, our tongues dancing a slow, sweet repartee. I feel a swell of something unidentifiable – more than lust, which is generally contained below my waist. Rather, I feel as though my chest is a balloon, filling with helium, expanding ever greater, threatening to burst even as my body feels as though it will float away; combining with the warmth that has been stirring from my heart. The combination of the two is almost too poignant, like a pin has suddenly been thrust into my flesh after years of sensory deprivation.

I have to pull away for a moment, to catch my breath, to give my body some relief from the sensory overload. We stare at each other, each breathing heavily, wide-eyed and smiling in awe. Jasper's hands come up to either side of my face; his thumbs gently stroke my cheekbones. He places feather-light kisses on my nose, my eyes, my forehead; then he turns my head slightly so that he can lean in and whisper in my ear, "Suck me, beautiful."

I immediately drop to my knees, letting my hands come to rest on his beautiful, muscular ass, and opening as wide as I can to take his splendid cock into my mouth. His hands rest on my head, his fingers stroking through my wet bronze hair – riding the movements, never forcing. I taste his head first, sliding the tip of my tongue around the ridge, dipping into the slit. I wrap one hand around the wide base, then plunge my head down, taking as much of him into my mouth as I can. He thrusts slightly – reflexively, never coercing – and groans, "Jesus fuck!" I suck hard on his shaft, creating a tight vacuum with my mouth. He moans loudly, and I lift my eyes, my mouth never ceasing my attentions to his cock. His head is back and I can't see his face. Looking up at his chest from this angle is stunning. His pecs and biceps are tightly flexed in his pleasure and concentration, and yet his touch on my head and face are gentle caresses. I knead his ass with my free hand, feeling the sculpted musculature. Despite the warm water, I shiver slightly as I imagine hitting the gym with him, watching that beautiful ass in action.

My shiver prompts him to look down at me, and when he sees that I'm gazing upwards, he smiles widely, his mouth open slightly to aid in his accelerated breathing. "I'm so close, beautiful," he whispers hoarsely, stroking my brow gently with his thumb. "Your mouth feels fucking amazing." I move my hand from his ass around to his balls, gently stroking and massaging, and I increase the speed at which my mouth and hand are pumping up and down his shaft. Soon his body tenses and he rocks his hips forward and back, teetering on the edge of his release. He moans loudly, "Oh, fuck, yeah!" and his cock pulses and throbs in my mouth. His cum hits my throat in hot spurts. I savor the salty taste of his essence, swallowing every spate; not wanting to miss a single drop. He continues to moan and thrust, and I don't release his cock until his orgasm has completely subsided.

He reaches down to my sides, under my arms, and pulls me quickly to his level. He pushes me back against the tiled shower wall, one hand on my hip and the other on the side of my neck, and his mouth attacks mine. His tongue asks entrance and I grant it immediately. His hand slides into my hair and, fisting it gently, he tilts my head back to allow him better access, and his tongue sweeps the farthest recesses of my mouth, seeking out residual tastes of his nectar.

Finally he breaks our kiss and, keeping his hand on my neck, he pulls my ear close to his mouth and whispers soft thanks and admirations. My lips feel naked at the loss of his beautiful mouth against mine, and I lean in to continue to adore his lean neck, moving between his jaw and his collarbone until he pulls back a bit and bestows a beatific smile upon me.

"I can't help noticing how well-placed this ledge is," he says suggestively, and he purses his lips and cocks one eyebrow at me while his fingertips graze the deep ledge built into the shower wall.

"One of the perks of knowing a few good designers," I reply. Briefly I think back to the process of redesigning the bathroom. The remodel work was a bitch, but fortunately the design was easy. I knew exactly what I wanted; and the best part was that I didn't have to explain to my designer or crew what the ledge was for. Hell, three-quarters of them were fucked on that ledge at some point during the process.

"So," Jasper says, bringing my thoughts back to the present, "shall I…um…?" and he pats the ledge questioningly.

I consider his question for only a moment before I answer.

"No," I reply, shaking my head. "I want you in our – er, my bed."

His head whips around to look at me as I stumble over the words. Our bed? Christ - what did I just do? I can't imagine what the look on my face must be as I meet his eyes. His eyebrows are high on his forehead and his eyes are wide as he searches my face. So far, though, he isn't throwing his clothes back on in a mad panic to get away from the – god, I can barely even _think_ it – pathetic loser who might as well have just written our fucking wedding announcement! I have no fucking idea what I should say at this moment to assure him that I really don't mean what my slip implied. For fuck's sake, I am the guy who has to fend off the boys who think they're in love with me after one fuck. For a very brief moment, I actually wonder whether, at some point tonight, I have walked through a portal to an alternate universe. Or, maybe I was hit by a bus and died instantly; and this is, in fact, my own personal hell.

After what feels like fucking weeks, but is probably more like five seconds, I manage to recover my faculties enough to speak. I decide to make light of my mistake, figuring that seeming more pathetic at this point is definitely not what I need. Fortunately, as I'm about to speak, Jasper saves me the trouble and bursts into laughter. It's the third time this exuberant laugh has echoed off the walls of my apartment, and at this moment, it's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. He was caught off-guard by my stumble too, but only for a moment. He's not dashing for the door.

"Oh my god, Edward, your face!" he gasps when he's able to speak. "I thought you were going to throw up! Shit, that's the funniest thing I've ever seen!" He dissolves again into laughter and I join him, partly laughing at myself and partly in relief that he doesn't spook easily.

I reach behind me to turn off the shower spray, then step from the shower and grab two towels from the linen shelf. Grabbing his hand, I pull him from the shower and towel him off. He's still smiling broadly, and he lifts his arms up and out to the sides, passively letting me work over his body with the bright white towel. Once I've dried him off and squeezed the water out of his dripping curls, I turn him towards the bathroom door, lightly slap his ass and say, "Meet you on the bed."

"Whose bed…?" he teases gently, smirking over his shoulder at me as he heads in that direction. I quickly towel myself off and stride out into my bedroom; and then I stop short at the sight of him.

He's lounging on his stomach on the bed, his long, muscular body reclining gracefully across the duvet. His head is propped on one hand, turned towards me. His smile has turned from teasing, to tempting. His ass – oh my god, his ass – is of the same caliber as any marble carving I've seen anywhere in the world. In two long strides, I am on my knees on the bed beside him. I have to get my hands on that ass, sink my fingers in deeply, grab handfuls of it. It is smooth and unblemished, and I can't stop my lips from falling to it. I place sucking kisses and nibbles over each smooth cheek, knowing I'm in danger of placing marks on it, but I can't help it. I want to mark it – I want to be the one whose lips and teeth have left their imprint upon the pristine canvas.

Jasper has lain his head upon the pillows and is reveling in my attention to his luscious ass, stretching his legs and flexing his toes, sighing his enjoyment. Finally he lifts his hips off the bed and pulls his knees underneath him, breaking away from my oral assault on his perfect posterior so he can lift it into the air. His cheek remains on the pillows and he's smiling at me with that fascinating mouth.

"Mmm, found something you like, I see," he intones softly. In reply, I lean forward to place a sweet kiss on his cheek, then reach to my bedside for a condom and the bottle of lube. I tear open the packet and unroll the condom onto my throbbing hard cock, and dispense a generous amount of lube into my hand. I lube the condom, and then it's time to start to lube the beautiful ass before me.

I move behind him and lean in to place just one kiss on each beautiful ass cheek as my lubed fingers start to apply the slick liquid around his opening. I slip in one finger, then a second, and he sighs beneath me. I make sure his ass is well-anointed, and then it's time. I can't wait any longer to finally be inside him – my nymph, my god. I've been through worlds with this boy tonight, and it's finally time for me to possess him completely.

I place the head of my cock at his opening, and just before I press into him, I remember that I want to ask, as he did. I want to show him the respect he has given me tonight. I bend forward slightly to look at him. His eyes are closed, awaiting my entry. I whisper, "Is this okay?"

His eyes open and he turns his head slightly so he can meet my eyes. He smiles encouragingly and murmurs, "Yes." It's all I need.

Before he can break our gaze, I push deep into him, feeling the incredible tightness of his ass enveloping my throbbing cock. Once my entire length is sheathed within him, I hold my hips still, fighting the urge to buck against him. I manage to keep my eyes on his face just long enough to see his eyes roll back into his head, before mine do the same. The sensation of our bodies in union is exquisite, as though we were designed to fit perfectly together. I hold for as long as I can, savoring it; and then I start to slowly rock my hips back and forth, in and out of his beautiful ass. He punctuates each long stroke with a low moan, and it fuels my desire. My pace increases, and his response escalates in kind. He's in a near-constant state of expression; pants, groans, soft oaths. There is no shame in his enjoyment of this primal act.

And suddenly – I just get it. He's not ashamed, because he's giving me a gift – he's giving me his body, and it's a gift. The realization slams me in the chest. _There is more pleasure in giving than in receiving._ I used to scoff at this, relating it to giving and receiving sexual favors. I was so fucking stupid. There is no shame in giving a gift.

And now I know. I know why those men from my past made me feel so ashamed: because they stole the gift from me. They weren't worthy for me to present it to them as I should, and they stole it. And I know why I've never given it to anyone else – because there are so few who believe enough in their own value, to know that they shouldn't give their own gift to every guy who walks by. Most importantly, I know why I wasn't ashamed to allow Jasper to possess my body tonight: he's worthy. He's priceless. And if I know nothing else in the midst of this surreal moment of existential importance, I am absolutely certain that I will never give the gift to anyone else.

As these fireworks go off in my head, fireworks of a different kind are getting closer beneath me. And all at once, I know I need to delay it. Now.

"Stop, stop," I pant, holding Jasper's hips so he can't press back into me.

"What? What's wrong? Are you okay?" he gasps, raising onto his palms and twisting his head around to look at me. His face is frantic with need, but bewildered that I've halted our actions.

"This is wrong! I'm doing this wrong," I manage to gasp out.

He looks at me now as though he is seriously concerned for my mental well-being, and says, "Believe me when I say, you're not doing it wrong." He then tries again to buck his hips back against me, and I push his ass away entirely, grasping the base of the condom and pulling out.

"No," I insist, "it's wrong."

"God, what?" he groans, clearly frustrated and completely at a loss for my behavior.

"Let me explain," I beg. "I just…I can't see you. I want to see you. Please – lay on your back, so I can look at you?"

"Oh," he exhales, seeming relieved that I haven't completely lost my mind. "Okay. I mean, yes. Of course." He smiles, his breath still accelerated, and gracefully flips over onto his back, lifting his legs so that his knees are elevated and his feet are flat on the bed.

"Thank you," I answer fervently, and though he doesn't know it yet, I'm thanking him for more than just indulging me with a rearrangement of position. The urgency returns as I look into his fantastic green eyes, and I immediately push into him again. His legs hook up over my back and now it's his heels that are digging into my ass, pulling me completely inside him. His hand comes down to his cock, stroking and caressing as I fuck his exquisitely tight ass. I've never seen anything as beautiful as his face looks when I'm inside him, and right now I feel like I never want to see anyone beneath me again. And I don't want any other boy to have the privilege of seeing this splendid sight. The greedy bastard in me doesn't want him to give that gift to anyone but me.

His upper body tenses, and I know his release is imminent. I'm on the edge as well, but I don't want to let myself go until I know my beautiful boy is there with me. I lean forward, making sure he is looking directly into my eyes, and I whisper, " _Our_ bed."

And that's it. His body is a hang-glider, and I just jumped off a cliff. And now we're soaring through space, riding the bursts of air that buffet us from all sides; screaming into the wide open, sheer joy carrying us higher and higher. We're miles above everything now, and I don't ever want to let him return to earth. My heart feels as though it has grown its own wings, and the added strength keeps us aloft; until finally, gently, the winds abate, the hang-glider drifts smoothly down to solid ground again, and we are back on earth.

I collapse onto his chest and bury my face in his shoulder, panting, sweating, holding him as tightly to me as I possibly can. "Thank you," I whisper. "Thank you, thank you." They're the only words I'm capable of forming right now. I know that soon, I will explain to him what his gift means to me. For now, this is enough.

He grips me tightly, seemingly unwilling to give any opportunity for me to pull away, and I have no desire to. He kisses my head again and again, and between kisses he says, "'Thank you' is my second-favorite two-word sentence."

Finally I lift my face from his shoulder to look at him. His face is flushed and glistening with a sheen of sweat, and his eyes are blazing as he returns my gaze.

"What's your most favorite two-word sentence?" I ask.

He breaks into that impossibly wide grin before replying, "Our bed."


	5. Chapter 5

-o-

 _Jasper_

It's 7:30 a.m. Always an early riser, I am already awake despite the late hour at which I got to sleep. The lean, lanky angel with whom I spent the night, is lying wrapped up in my arms, his head resting on my bare chest. His lips are parted and his gentle, rhythmic breathing is like a song to me. I gently run my fingers through his burnished locks, attempting to bring some order to his perpetual 'sex hair'; but I give up rather quickly, deciding it's not worth waking him from his peaceful rest. Besides, I decide, when it comes to this particular boy, I rather like the post-coital look.

I am not a lay-in-bed kind of guy. I don't require much more than five or six hours a night, and I am the type of person whose feet hit the floor literally within thirty seconds after I wake up. The fact that I have been lying awake for half an hour, holding Edward, watching him sleep, listening to him breathe, is a monumental testament to my complete and utter contentment at this moment.

In my mind, I replay the memory of coming face-to-face with Edward last night. As much as I'd thought he was gorgeous in high school, he was still really a boy then. Even seeing him from across the club, I could only really tell that my memory hadn't done him justice. But turning to see him standing so close to me – the color of his hair, the determined set of his jaw, and the vivid green eyes that snapped and sparked as he stared me down – I had been rendered temporarily speechless by the sheer beauty of the man.

I silently congratulate myself on having worked so hard to carefully cultivate an outward demeanor of calm, even when I am anything but calm on the inside. Practicing a killer stare has saved me in the past, whether from a hospital board of directors who demand unrealistic changes to the operating budget, or club queens who don't get the message when I tell them I'm not interested. It's not in my nature to be rude to people – I even feel a bit guilty about resorting to cursing at the infant who whined when Edward blew him off – so the Jazz Stare is my go-to mechanism. It communicates my point fairly effectively.

And having the Jazz Stare down was the only thing that saved me from dropping to my knees on the spot at the sound of Edward's now-masculine voice, when he'd verbalized what I'd fantasized about for ten years. _I want to make you sit on my nine-inch cock._

I close my eyes and groan softly, my cock twitching even now at the memory. If I stay in this bed, I'll be waking Edward up much sooner than I should, out of sheer need and lust. Slowly, carefully, I inch out from underneath him, and lower his head to a pillow. He stirs a bit at the repositioning, but doesn't wake.

I visit the bathroom, the scene of the most mind-blowingly intense blow job I've ever had the pleasure to receive. I decide against showering yet, not knowing how deeply Edward sleeps – I don't want to wake him. I also can't help wondering, if I wait till he gets up, might I get an opportunity to saddle up the shower ledge? The prospect gives me a little shiver of delight.

Passing back through the bedroom, I pause to pull on my jeans, then continue to the living area of the apartment. A large window at the end of the kitchen faces east, and I'm pleased to see that it will be a sunny day. Living in Texas and then Southern California, I became used to beautiful, _consecutive_ days of full sunshine. San Francisco's fog and moderate temperatures were, I reflect, probably good stepping stones in my eventual re-acclimation to Pacific Northwest weather.

On the granite kitchen counter sits a Krups coffeemaker; so I figure there must be some coffee somewhere in this kitchen. I open a few cherry-wood cupboard doors; I find filters and a coffee grinder, though I hope I won't need to fire up the noisy grinder. I check the fridge. There sits an opened pound of Starbucks' Christmas Blend, in its signature gold bag. As I retrieve the bag, I chuckle at the cliché of Starbucks coffee in Seattle, but I'm grateful – this roast is my favorite. It's now February; Edward must stock up during the two months of the year when the Christmas Blend is available. The coffee in the bag is already ground, saving me from having to having to use the grinder.

Once the coffee is brewing, I wander out into the main living area to look around. It's a beautiful apartment, with high ceilings, exposed brick on one wall and floor-to-ceiling windows on the exterior wall. The apartment is on the third floor, and the view of the neighborhood is somewhat obstructed by the tops of mature trees; but it's not an unpleasant view. I meander through the living room area, noting the sleek black leather couch and industrial-looking glass-and-chrome occasional tables. At one end of the living space, a separate room has been constructed and it cuts into the open feel of the rest of the apartment. I wonder about the purpose of the intrusion, until I remember that Edward is a photographer; this must be his dark room.

I continue to slowly peruse the room. There are pieces of art on the walls; and some framed photos, I assume taken by Edward, of architecture and the Seattle skyline. There's a sleek, modern wall unit that holds a flat-screen television and an expensive-looking stereo system. The window treatment is a light, airy sheer panel that gives some privacy without blocking the light. Altogether, the apartment is everything a typical, well-off, young single male would want in a home.

Almost.

Something is missing, and I can't put my finger on what it is. I pace around the living space more quickly now, trying to work it out. I stop and again gaze around the room, but it eludes me. I shake my head, frowning slightly.

The coffee maker is no longer gurgling, so I head back to the kitchen to get a cup of morning nectar. I find a coffee mug and a spoon, and open the fridge to pull out the cream. I doctor up my coffee – always pour the cream in the mug first, then pour the coffee to caramelize the cream – and replace the cream in the fridge. I close the fridge door, and for a long moment, I stare at the black expanse of the door. And suddenly, I know what's missing from Edward's living room, from his fridge door – hell, from his entire apartment.

I think back to six weeks earlier, when I'd put my apartment in San Francisco on the market. "Pack away your family photos and mementos before you show your apartment," my real estate agent had advised. "A prospective buyer needs to be able to imagine himself living in your space, and having your personal effects visible makes that difficult for him." And now, looking around Edward's apartment, one could assume that he is trying to sell it. There are no photos of his family or his friends. He's a photographer, for fuck's sake – documenting people's lives is his passion and his livelihood; yet he has nothing in his living space that documents his life.

What's missing from Edward's apartment, is _Edward_.

I slump down onto the leather couch with my coffee and tuck my long legs up beside me. I stare out the window and consider what this means. Maybe he prefers a minimalist approach to decorating; that would seem to be the case, looking around his apartment. Everything is sleek lines and neutral colors. He has no plants, no pets…he's the only living thing here, aside from me.

Still…no photos of his parents or his sister? I'm no decorator, but it seems to me that even a minimalist style would allow for some unobtrusive family photos, wouldn't it? And then his words from last night echo back to me: _I don't have friends…people don't deal with me more than they have to._ And I can't ignore the very real possibility that there is more going on here than just a decorating style.

Realizing that Edward may actually be every bit as isolated as he implied he was, is heartbreaking. _I'm self-centered, and I'm cold…The only ones who seek me out are the boys at the clubs who want me to fuck them._ I'd thought perhaps he was exaggerating in an attempt maintain his boundaries. The passion I'd seen in those eyes last night…it's difficult to believe that he has no one in his life, not even family, for whom he feels any tenderness.

Wondering about his family naturally draws my thoughts to my own; and I can't help but smile. My parents, still thousands of miles away in Austin; and my sister, Rosalie, three years older than me, happily married and raising a beautiful family in San Diego. I have pictures – no, that's understating it. I have epic albums of my family. Stacks upon stacks of framed photos that are sitting, wrapped up in boxes in my new apartment. My family has been the foundation of my life since the day I was born. I have never been put in the position to doubt my family's love for me, not even the day I told my parents I was gay.

 _It was early in my sophomore year of college. It had been a difficult summer for me. I'd developed a massive crush on one of the male lifeguards at our community pool; and between trying not to get an enormous hard-on every time I swam, and fending off the unwanted advances of the neighborhood girls, my summer pretty much sucked. Out of sheer frustration, I had finally broken down and accepted a date with my next-door neighbor Victoria. She had just graduated from high school and would be heading off to Texas A &M in September. As I later realized, her goal was to lose her cherry before getting to university, and she had decided I was the one to do it._

 _Our date was a disaster, of course; she wanted me to go to a party with her, which I did. She kept trying to get me to feel her up, and I couldn't do it – gay or otherwise, I was horrified at the thought that she was willing to have her first time be with someone who cared nothing for her. When I finally said that I wanted to go home, she cried, and I felt absolutely awful for having accepted the date in the first place._

 _The experience made me realize that I just couldn't ignore my own urges any longer. The first weekend I got back to college in San Diego, I went to the student union, where I knew I would find fliers advertising various social events and bars. I hung around the board till I was sure no one was looking, then grabbed a bright pink (it HAD to be bright pink?) flier and fled back to my apartment. The flier had information on the campus's PRIDE group. I needed to talk to someone who had already come out. I needed some advice on how to tell my parents, what to expect. I needed to get information on safe sex. And, hell – I desperately needed to get laid._

 _Attending my first meeting of the PRIDE club, as terrifying as it was, was also an utterly liberating experience. I met friends there – people I was already acquainted with but didn't know were gay, people I'd never met before, men and women, international students...everyone had their own story to tell. They became my support network at school, even after my family knew everything._

 _I went out to one or two gay clubs every weekend, usually with a group of my new friends, and very soon, I found myself having my first encounter with another boy. The first few times were just giving and receiving head. Eventually, though, I took the plunge. The boy I did it with had never done it before, either; and I think it was actually a good thing that both of us were inexperienced and scared. We were each very gentle and patient with the other, and though it never developed into anything beyond mutual fulfillment of each other's needs, it was a good, non-threatening environment for us both to learn and experiment. Even after we stopped sleeping together, we remained friends throughout the rest of college, and continue to keep in touch._

 _I told Rosalie, who was my closest confidante outside of my school friends, over the phone the weekend after I first had sex. She was in her first year in "the real world" after college and was working for a financial planning company in Los Angeles. Rosalie, always outspoken, said, "It's about time you figured it out. Are you using condoms?" As it turns out, she had suspected as much for several years. Rosalie's reaction was very encouraging, and it shored up my resolve to tell my parents._

 _I came out to my parents the weekend I was home for Thanksgiving. I was nervous but not terrified. I knew my parents were very socially liberal; but it is, I imagine, quite a different proposition when your child tells you he's gay. It was a very emotional experience – not because they were upset, but because they were proud of me. Proud that I had admitted the truth to myself, proud that I shared it with them, and proud that I had already taken care to protect myself and my partners, as all responsible sexually active people should. They, too, had wondered whether I was interested in boys, since I'd never dated a girl outside the disastrous date with Victoria next door. The three of us cried together, they hugged me and told me they loved me, and that was it._

 _When I went back to school and described the scene to my friends, most were jealous; all were in awe. Not one had found such an accepting reaction from their parents. It reaffirmed for me what I already knew: that I had the most loving family I could possibly hope for; that they would be there with me for whatever came my way; and that I was blessed._

Realizing that my coffee cup is empty brings my thoughts back to the present, and as I pad back to the kitchen for a refill, I feel a pang of homesickness. Even though Washington State is where I originated, home is with the people I love. I realize how lucky I am to have an open and loving relationship with my family; even more so now that Rosalie has married her husband Emmett and given me a couple of adorable nephews.

Before I can start to feel too sorry for myself, though, a sadder thought arises: what if Edward doesn't have any of this? No family support, no network of friends who care for him? It's unthinkable for anyone to be so detached from love, and the possibility hurts my heart. I rack my brain, trying to remember what I know of his parents. His father is a physician, I think. His mother…hmm, no idea. I met his father once on "Career Day" in ninth grade; he had come to the school to answer questions for those who were interested in a career in medicine. I had sat in on his session, more out of curiosity about my crush's family than from a burning desire to be a doctor. Dr. Cullen had seemed warm and pleasant enough then; but I know that means nothing. From the stories my friends have shared with me over the years, about their coming-out experiences, I know all too well how horribly a parent can react to their child's disclosure. I wince, thinking of the possibility of Edward having to bear the difficulties he went through in high school without being bolstered by loved ones.

Edward is, without a doubt, a badly-damaged individual. From the very little I know about him, I know that he makes himself an undesirable companion by pushing others away; and I am almost certain that it's a learned behavior, a method of coping with the coldness he has encountered; rather than an honest reflection of his true personality. Despite his beauty and his outward "don't fucking care" attitude, he has, somewhere in there, a sensitive nature. I caught a glimpse of it last night when he asked me to turn so he could see me; and after he came, I could swear that his words of gratitude were for more than a great fuck.

He's damaged, but he's not beyond repair. Last night I breached his barricades – not by force, not by means of humiliation or violence – but by patience, reason, and tenderness. He responded, in a reasonably short period of time, with tenderness, gratitude and even generosity; like a plant that has been hidden in a closet finding itself suddenly brought into sunlight. I'm too practical to assume, or even to hope, that when he wakes up this morning, he'll be whole and unscarred and we'll ride off into the sunset together. I know we have a long road ahead of us, and still more things we need to discuss. I'm sure it'll occur to him at some point that me walking into Spin and finding him there was certainly not just a stroke of luck. That will be another conversation in itself.

Despite that – right at this moment, I decide to be happy. I am well-sexed, caffeinated, and sitting on a very comfortable leather couch looking out over Seattle on a Sunday morning. Oh, and, one other minor little detail: I'm in _Edward fucking Cullen's_ apartment! I feel like Laura Linney's character in "Love, Actually", when her long-unrequited love, Karl – I pause briefly to consider Rodrigo Santoro's finer points - finally comes to her apartment and she invites him to come up to her room. She asks him to stay at the door for just a few seconds while she takes care of something – then she ducks around the corner out of his sight, and executes a very brief dance of joy, complete with silent scream. It captures the moment perfectly, and I know _exactly_ how she feels.

A smile is still on my lips as I compare my situation with that of my favorite Britcom movie, when from the bedroom door I hear a velvet voice say, "I'd ask you how you are this morning; but that smile pretty much says it all."

-o-


	6. Chapter 6

-o-

 _Jasper_

I shift in my seat, to the direction of Edward's voice. He is standing in his bedroom doorway, leaning against the frame, arms folded across his chest. His bronze hair is, of course, going in every direction, giving him a boyish look. He's wearing a pair of sleep pants and nothing else. His smooth chest isn't as broad as mine; but it's defined and masculine. His eyes still look a bit sleepy, but he's sporting a little grin as he watches me on the couch.

"You stayed," he says quietly.

"I stayed," I reply, remaining in my place on the couch. "I hope that's okay."

He nods gently and says, "It is. I thought maybe you had left, when I woke up and you weren't there; it was so quiet out here. But I smelled coffee; and well, since I'm not on the coffee fairy's route…"

I chuckle, and reply, "Yes, I scrounged around a bit in your kitchen; sorry for that. I had to have my morning nectar."

"No, it's fine," he smiles. "I'm glad you found what you needed."

He has stepped down the two steps from the bedroom and stands at the end of the couch, looking a bit awkward. This is obviously not a situation in which he often finds himself. I don't say anything for a few moments, letting him take control of the situation. I find myself comparing the situation to trying to tempt a chickadee to land in my hand to take a seed. It's important not to make any sudden movements or make him feel threatened.

"So," he begins, "are you hungry?"

"Getting there, yeah," I admit. He strolls off towards the kitchen, and I get up from the couch and follow him.

He stands in front of the open fridge, perusing the contents. "Hmmm – I don't have a great deal; I wasn't expecting company. I usually have a protein shake for breakfast; but on Sunday mornings I actually allow myself to eat carbs. We always did Sunday brunch when I lived at…when I was young."

"Maybe we could go out and get something," I suggest. It's still a bit early; the finer restaurants won't be serving their Sunday brunch yet. "Is there a diner in the neighborhood? Maybe they have a breakfast special?"

"Actually, yeah; there's a little greasy spoon down the block that's open 24 hours. I've been there when I was working late in the dark room and didn't get to bed. It isn't fine dining," he smirks, "but it's good food, and plenty of it. Good for," here he pauses and quirks an eyebrow mischievously at me, "rebuilding your strength."

My heartbeat skips a bit at the playfulness that has reappeared in his demeanor. He's okay; he's not freaking out about last night, he doesn't seem to regret what happened between us. "Sounds great," I reply, working to keep my voice even. "First though, maybe we should…shower?" I step closer and run my fingers through his locks. "Your shower has some interesting features and I don't think the five-cent tour did them justice."

"Oh," he says, grinning as he enters into the spirit of the conversation. "The five-cent tour is for sight-seers. For the real behind-the-scenes tour, you have to bribe the doorman."

"Really…hmmm...well, I'm not above bribery," I murmur. "If only I knew what the doorman might like…maybe this would do it?" I kiss his neck down from his jaw to his collarbone, and returning up to behind his ear. He relaxes back against the counter and exhales softly, enjoying the soft attentions.

"I don't know…the doorman is a greedy bastard…" he sighs.

"Well, okay," I say, scowling slightly, "but I hope you know that I don't condone extortion. I'm compromising my principles."

"Ungh, it's a dirty world…" His voice cuts off as my mouth makes contact with his nipples. He moans as my tongue swirls around the hardening nubs; then gasps when my teeth gently nip at him.

"Okay, you convinced me," he says and, pulling away abruptly, grabs my hand and dashes to his room, pulling me behind him. Our pants are stripped off before we hit the bathroom door. He stands at the door of the shower with his hand in the spray, waiting for it to warm. I stand behind him, my hands around his waist and my lips and tongue adoring his neck and shoulder. He reaches down to my hands and steps into the shower, pulling me with him. He turns around to face me and navigates me slowly backward, backing me up towards the wall. I take one step back, and then another, till I touch the tile wall. The edge of the deep ledge presses into the back of my thigh, and I get a shiver up my back, realizing that my hopes with respect to this ledge are going to come true.

As it becomes apparent that I can't move back any further, Edward's hands go down to my hips and he whispers, "Mmm, is that one of the details you're interested in?"

In reply, I pull myself up to sit on the ledge and open my knees, wide enough that I can grab Edward's ass and pull him roughly toward me, his groin pressing at the crux between my thighs. His mouth hungrily attacks mine and we both know neither of us is looking for slow, sweet seduction now. This is urgency, an agony of the void inside me that only he can soothe. There are no words and no foreplay; he grabs a condom from the shelf just outside the shower door and quickly sheaths his cock, and then, lifting my calves up onto his shoulders, pushes into my already-wet ass, not stopping until he is fully seated inside me. I am seized by the exquisite blending of thrust and prurience, and I cannot help but cry out as the sensation explodes upwards throughout my chest. Edward pauses briefly, seeking my eyes to ensure that my cry is one of enjoyment. My hands instinctively reach out to brace myself against the tile walls that surround me, and I push harder against him. His concern erased, he immediately begins to plunge deep inside me, over and over, knowing we both need this physical act to be one of strength against strength, fire against fire.

His groin presses hard against my ass as he fills me completely, again and again. I haven't moved my hands from their brace on the tile walls, and I know I won't need to touch my own cock. He fits me perfectly, and his rigid cock caresses that spot deep inside, the one that will make me explode into a thousand pieces very soon. He knows I'm on the edge, and he guides my legs down off his shoulders and around his waist, then grabs my hips and pulls me closer than I thought possible. I'm moaning and panting, my head leaning back against the wall and rocking from side to side; and I feel his teeth against my shoulder. My body stills and tenses, so close to my release.

"Come for me," he whispers hoarsely, just before he bites down and tosses my soul into oblivion. I shout as each paroxysm sucks me into a vortex of dancing lights and sizzling raindrops. My body explodes with my soul, and thick ropes of cum erupt from me, decorating my chest and Edward's. The intensity of my orgasm quickly brings Edward to his release, and he groans loudly with each powerful thrust inside me. Our bodies heave and grind against each other, sustaining our pleasure in ourselves and each other as long as we can.

When the tidal wave has ebbed, we are left trembling, weak, clinging desperately to each other to maintain both our physical and emotional connection. For several long moments there are no words and no great movements, just silent commune. Edward's head rests on my chest, his arms around my lower back; my arms around his neck and shoulders, my cheek against the top of his head. The only sound is the water falling on and around us.

Eventually, Edward lifts his head and softly, sweetly, places a kiss on my cheek. I release my hold on his shoulders and he pulls out, disposing quickly of the condom. He returns to me and helps me off the ledge, though my legs are long enough to touch the floor on my tiptoes. He reaches up to one of the showerheads and, flipping a lever, changes the spray to a more concentrated massaging spray. Wordlessly, he directs it at my lower back and gently massages away the tension that has settled there as a result of my seating arrangements on the ledge.

When he has completed his task, he turns me to face him and, taking my face in both hands, he whispers, "Thank you."

"Shouldn't I be thanking you?" I softly reply. "The massage felt really nice."

"I need to thank you," he insists gently. "I need to thank you for…your gift."

"My gift?" I question, not following.

He casts his eyes downward slightly, as though he's feeling embarrassed or sheepish. "It's okay," I say, drawing his face upward again towards mine. "You can say whatever you want to me."

"I want…I want to tell you…" He's searching for the right words, and I wait patiently. I will wait forever to hear whatever he has to tell me. "I need to tell you that I understand." Another long pause. "I get what you said. That it doesn't have to be shameful to bottom. You don't feel ashamed when you do it."

"No, I don't," I acknowledge, shaking my head. "It's an enjoyable part of my sex life that I don't want to give up. Like I said – it's freeing to relinquish control."

"You did say that. But, I also think…" and he pauses again. He's struggling, and I sense that this is the most soul-baring he has done in a long time, perhaps in his life. "I also think that when you allow me to top you…you're giving me a gift. Letting me be in control of you – it's freeing for you, but it's a gift you're giving to me." He shrugs, his eyes looking downward again. "And I'm…grateful."

If I thought I knew what he might be trying to say, I honestly wouldn't have expected this. I know that many boys in general often have trouble expressing their emotions; and from this one in particular, having a sense of the scarring his soul has taken, I am utterly floored by his acknowledgement. He understands the sacrifice made by the one who sits on the ledge – not just in the realm of physical consequences, but the greater implication.

It's clearly difficult for him to make this admission. Though I don't yet fully understand, I can guess what saying these words has cost him, and I silently promise myself that I will do everything I can to make sure he never regrets it – never regrets placing his body in my care and his emotions in my trust.

"You're welcome," I reply fervently, holding his face in my hands and pressing my lips firmly against his for a long moment. When we break our kiss, I continue, "And you should know that I'm grateful, too, for the gift you gave me last night."

"I know," he nods gently, a small smile upon his lips. "I knew then. You were careful and…you respected me, even when you were about to…" he trails off.

"Violate you?" I supply, grinning. I figure it's time to lighten the mood a bit.

"Yes," he chuckles, "exactly." He leans in to kiss me again, and then says, "Okay, now I'm absolutely famished. Let's wash up and hit the diner before I fade away."

We make quick work of cleaning up, and then dry off and dress quickly. I wear only my own jeans, borrowing clean underwear, socks and a black button-down shirt from him. Soon we are walking to the diner, a comfortable silence between us as we enjoy the Sunday morning near-desertion of the city street. The morning is still chilly and damp, despite the sunshine that floods the street. Dampness is pervasive here, even in the city. Another facet of Washington State life that I'll have to get used to again.

We reach the diner, a storefront hole-in-the-wall. It's a narrow room, but deep, with a column of booths down one wall, interrupted halfway by a counter; and on the other wall, a column of four-top tables. It's simply decorated; but clean, warm and comfortable. We choose a booth, sliding into opposite sides of the table. A waitress comes by to give us menus, and pours us each a cup of coffee. "So you start work tomorrow at Northwest?" he asks conversationally, as we look over the menus.

"Yep," I reply. A little anxiety grips my stomach. I'm not truly worried; I've already done this job, and I did it well. Still, the thought of getting used to a new environment, meeting new colleagues - it's a bit nerve-wracking.

He senses the shift in my mood. "Nervous?" he asks softly; and his hand reaches out to cover mine. His fingertips caress the back of my hand gently. My heart flutters at the simple gesture. I'm truly touched, and I smile warmly at him over the top of my menu.

"First-day jitters," I concede, "but otherwise, just kind of anxious to get there and meet the staff, that sort of thing." He smiles in understanding.

The waitress comes back to take our orders. I choose something called a Homestyle Scramble, a concoction of scrambled eggs, home fries, sausage and gravy, with biscuits on the side. Sounds heavy and greasy – and fucking delicious. It sounds similar to breakfasts I had when living in Texas. These days I don't often make such fatty choices; but I make a concession this morning, considering the calories I've burned in the last ten hours or so.

Edward places his order as well, and the waitress leaves. There is one other couple in the restaurant, a senior man and woman. The woman notices Edward's hand resting still on mine, and gives me a motherly smile. I smile back, silently grateful that she doesn't seem to be judging us.

Edward and I sit in silence while we wait for our orders. They arrive quickly, steaming hot and smelling like heaven. The waitress refills our coffees and then leaves us alone. We dig in and after stuffing our faces for several moments, I decide I'm feeling secure enough now to ask Edward a few questions.

"So," I ask, "how are you feeling this morning?"

"How am I feeling?" he returns, as though he's not entirely sure exactly what I'm asking.

"Last night was kind of intense," I clarify. "I know we talked a bit about it in the shower this morning, but I guess…I want to check in to see how you're feeling about the other stuff I told you last night."

"For instance?" he asks, decorating his eggs-over-easy with a generous helping of ketchup.

"For instance…" I hesitate and I can feel my cheeks flush in anticipation of what I'm going to say, "my rather mortifying admission that I was essentially a teenage stalker."

"Ah…yeah. Well, all things considered, I think that was pretty innocent. You were observing. In a way, I guess I'm kind of lucky that you were around, keeping an eye on me, right? In that way, it's actually a little comforting. It does bring up another question, though…" and now he is the one that hesitates.

"Uh-oh," I grimace. "Okay, let me have it."

He laughs out loud and says, "You're not on your way to the guillotine, Jasper. You don't need to look so grim." I sigh and gesture for him to continue. "My question is - how did you find me? I mean, you knew I was here in Seattle; but at Spin…?"

The question I've been dreading the most. Not because I've done anything nefarious, but because the explanation is almost too simple. A random twist of fate, really; and I'm worried that it's so simple that he won't believe it. But the truth is that he has placed a lot of trust in me in a short period of time, and I have to trust him now.

"I got on Facebook when I was in college; back when it was only for college students," I begin. "Last year I got a friend request from a guy I used to see at Mathlete meets here in Washington; he went to a different school. He recognized my name and remembered me from then, so he added me." I'm babbling, trying to get it all out in a rush so he has the whole picture sooner rather than later. "We were catching up, comparing lives and as it turns out, he's gay too. Anyways, I was going through his photos on his profile one night and one of the albums was titled, 'Me and the boys at Spin,' or something to that effect. And I was tabbing through the pictures, and there was a guy in the background of a couple of them…it was clear enough that I was absolutely certain it was you." I'm nearing the end of my story now and throughout, I've kept my eyes on the table, afraid to look up to see skepticism in his eyes. "So I went there the second night I was in Seattle; that was Thursday, and then I went back the next night, and you were nowhere to be seen."

"I was in New York," he interrupts, and I finally look up to meet his gaze, "on business. A shoot, at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I got back late Friday night."

"Ah. Well, I figured since I'd waited ten years, I could stand around a club full of hot guys for a few nights more at least. And last night, fortunately for me, there you were. Better than my best memories," I end simply.

Our empty breakfast dishes have been pushed to the side of the table, and he plays with his coffee cup. The seconds tick by in silence, each one seemingly an eternity, as he holds my future – my heart – in his hands. I can only hope that my honesty up till now, my attempt to be as gentle and as tender as I can possibly be, has been enough to convince him of my genuine intentions where he is concerned.

Finally, he takes a deep breath, and raising his eyes to mine, begins to speak.

-o-


	7. Chapter 7

_Edward_

Chance. I don't believe in it. It's too random for my comfort. I've always preferred to view my life as something over which I have complete control; or at least, as much control as it's possible for anyone to have. I believe that one makes his own luck in life; leaving things up to fate or a higher power is for cowards.

Control. When I came out to my peers in high school, I took my destiny into my own hands. I didn't wait for someone to "out" me accidentally; I decided what I was going to do, and I was prepared for the likely consequences. When I go after a guy at a bar, it's on my terms; and he can take it or leave it. I don't make concessions.

Irony. Just kicked my ass.

Jasper has just – what? Confessed? – that he stumbled across pictures of me on Facebook. Hell, there could be a thousand pictures of me on Facebook, for all I know; I don't have an account – friends are, I believe, a prerequisite for sites such as this – but the infuriating number of people with cell phone cameras at the clubs certainly makes it possible. I can't quite chalk his disclosure up as a 'confession', though; any more than I could blame someone who happens across a rare vinyl record at a yard sale.

And hell, I'm relieved. To be honest, I've been wondering whether he staked out my apartment building and waited for me to get back from New York; he would have had my address because of the NICU donation in San Francisco. The thought of his innocuous teenager stalking is one thing; adult stalking is another prospect altogether. After the deep, soul-baring conversations we've already had, I have no reason not to believe that what he says is true.

Despite my relief, though, I am forced, for the second time in less than a day, to admit – at least to myself – that the beliefs by which I've guided my life for many years, may be entirely wrong.

And now, the catalyst, the subversive who has caused this general cascade of my paradigms, sits patiently across the table from me. To look at him, one would hardly guess him to be the dangerous radical he is; with his soft blonde curls and clear green eyes, he looks more like an angel. Instead of the loud, obnoxious wrecking ball that so many club boys present themselves as, his unassuming voice is a scalpel, carefully cutting away the dead pieces of my soul, never doubting that underneath he will find living flesh worth saving.

And he's waiting for me to speak. He seems genuinely apprehensive. Why? Is it because, having already admitted to following me ten years ago, he thinks I won't believe him about the accidental nature of his discovery? Abruptly, it is important to me that he not suffer, even momentarily, when it's entirely unnecessary. I need to allay his fears immediately. I draw a deep breath.

"I'll never bitch about those fucking cell phone cameras at Spin again," I say, and reaching for his hand, I show him the most genuine smile I can. "Even if the fuckers do blind me every time they flash the damn things. And despite the fact that poor lighting and close range cause red-eye effect," I add, for a bit of comic relief.

My response and the unsolicited photography advice have the desired effect, and Jasper tosses his beautiful head back to laugh heartily. The tension is broken, and hearing that clear ringing laugh, I can't help but join him. The other patrons that have joined us in the diner smile at us, unsure what the joke is, but clearly unable to resist the charm of his infectious laughter.

"Come on," I say, "let's get out of here." I throw a couple of twenties on the table, figuring it will cover the bill and a more-than-generous tip, and slide out of the booth. I grab his hand and pull him with me, and we each put our coats on as we're leaving the restaurant.

Back outside in the chilly air, and the sun is making its way up in the clear winter sky. We stand on the sidewalk for a few moments, each taking deep breaths of the brisk air; it's refreshing after the too-warm diner and the enormous breakfast we've each consumed. I turn my face to the sun, closing my eyes and letting its still-weak rays soak into my skin. Involuntarily, I sigh – a sigh of contentment, satisfaction and…Jesus – happiness. The first actual happiness I've felt in…I don't even know how long.

A moment later, I feel Jasper's chilly hands on either side of my face, and I open my eyes to see him standing close before me.

"You look so beautiful, with your face all illuminated by the sun," he whispers. "I'd like to kiss you. Is that okay?"

My breath catches in my chest, and all I can do is nod. He leans closer and just before his face touches mine, his eyes close. He's kissing me with his eyes closed. I've never kissed someone with my eyes closed. As much as I know it allows you to shut out the outside world, focus on the moment…it makes me feel vulnerable. I can't see what's going on around me, and I've just never trusted anyone enough to…I don't know – protect me?...if something happens. And as much as I think he deserves it, I'm just not at that place yet. And I can't pretend that I am – it's not what I do, and it would be utterly disingenuous to him after he has been so open with me.

So I melt into his soft lips and his warm, wet tongue, and my hands find their way inside his jacket to rest on his hips; and my eyes look at the curls that brush his cheekbones. The kiss is deep, but sweetly passionate; without the urgency and fire of our kisses earlier this morning.

Finally, he pulls back to smile down into my eyes, and I can't help leaning into him and laying my head on his shoulder, nuzzling my face into his neck. After a few moments, I know I can't put off any longer, telling him about my plans for the upcoming week.

"I have to fly to Vancouver tonight," I say without lifting my head from his shoulder.

"For work?" he asks.

"Yeah, a magazine shoot for a few days."

"Hmmm," he murmurs noncommittally.

I lift my head now to look in his eyes. "So, that means I need to get back to my apartment and get things ready to go. However," I continue, lifting his hand to my lips and kissing the backs of his fingers, "I'd like to see you when I get home." As I await his reply, I memorize the soft, delicate peaks of his top lip, knowing I'll carry the image in my mind while I'm away.

"I'd like that," he says, his mouth splitting into that dazzlingly wide grin.

"Good," I smile back. "I'm hoping to get the shoot done in three days, but it depends on how prepared they are for me. It may spill over into Thursday. I'll call you when I get back?"

"Sounds great," he replies. "I need to spend a few evenings at my place anyways, get things put away; warm the place up a bit. And I'm sure there'll be some reading for me, to go with the new job."

"Can I take you home?" I ask, realizing I have no idea whether he has a car that he left somewhere near the club, or even where he lives.

He shakes his head. "Don't worry about it – my car's parked near the club. I'll walk back to it." I start to protest, but he doesn't let me. "No, it's fine; it's a beautiful morning and the club's not far away. You go home and pack. I'll see you when you come back."

"Okay," I relent, and we each pull out our cell phones to enter each other's numbers. He gives me another quick kiss, murmurs a soft farewell, and begins to stride off in the direction of the club. For a moment I watch him walk away, and then before I know it, I'm running after him.

"Jasper!" I call, and he turns in surprise. In a few seconds, I'm standing before him, wide-eyed and feeling a bit panicked.

"What's wrong?" he asks, concerned.

"Nothing's wrong. I just…I need to tell you…I couldn't let you leave without telling you, that I'll be thinking about you when I'm away."

His face warms immeasurably and he smiles softly. "I'll be thinking about _you_ , Edward."

I need him to know that I won't just be thinking about the sex. Oh, I'll _think_ about the sex. Damn. But so much more has happened than just sex. I step closer and place my gently hands on his upper arms. "And I'll be thinking about all the things you've told me – about me. You've given me a lot to consider."

He smiles and pulls me into a tight embrace. "All I did was tell you what I saw about you, Edward," he whispers. "All of that was there already; I just tried to show it to you." Another deep, soft kiss, a few whispered endearments, and he's off again down the street; and again I watch him retreat until he disappears around the corner at the end of the block.

I turn and slowly begin the walk back to my apartment. Already I feel as though something is missing…just vanished from its rightful place at my side. Despite the empty feeling, I know myself – it's vital for me to have a few days to process the fundamental changes that have started to take place in my life. Work is the best thing – I can do my shoots during the day, and spend the evenings locked away in the studio on location, manipulating light and color. Over that, at least, I still have control. My world still has some order to it.

Back at my apartment, I look slowly around before I start to pack for the trip. I wander to the couch and run my fingers across the smooth leather, remembering the sight of Jasper sitting there gazing out the window with a beautiful smile on his face; his long legs tucked up under him in a childlike pose. I remember the strange thrill of realizing that he was sitting there, quietly waiting for me to be ready for the day; instead of having dashed out as soon as we fucked, as I would normally insist that most boys do.

In the kitchen, his coffee cup sits on the counter and I recall the "behind-the-scenes tour" that pre-empted dishwashing. On the chair in my room are Jasper's sweater and other clothes he left here. I lift his shirt to my face and inhale deeply; his scent permeates the sweater, a heady blend of musk and chai. My body reacts with a twitching, lengthening dick, and a small pang in my heart.

I go to the bathroom to pack my toiletries, and my reflection catches my eye in the mirror. I study it for several moments, looking for a discernable difference in my appearance that betrays the change I've undergone on the inside. I am relieved not to be able to find any outward change. I'm definitely not ready for my relationship with him to undergo scrutiny from anyone else, since I don't even know yet what it is…what I'm capable of.

His words come back to me: _I just tried to show it to you._ And I swear to myself:When I come home, I'm going to show it back. Show him that I want to be the person he believes I am, and show him that I can see all of his beauty, inside and out.


	8. Chapter 8

-o-

 _Jasper_

Tuesday night. It's been about two and a half days since I kissed Edward goodbye on the street near the diner. After I returned home Sunday, I worked like a demon to get my apartment looking more like a place I live, not just someplace I'm crashing. Yesterday I started my new job at Northwest Hospital. Tonight, I'm feeling pretty damn overwhelmed with the volume of information I've had to absorb in the past couple of days. I know it'll be a while before I can learn the names of all the staff and department heads I'll come to deal with on a daily basis, much less become familiar with the numerous doctors throughout the hospital.

The timing of my current state of brain overload has, I reflect, been rather fortuitous. At the very least, it has prevented me from constantly thinking about Edward; remembering our night and morning together, wondering how he's doing in Canada, worrying about what he will have to say when he gets back to Seattle.

I look around my apartment with some satisfaction at the work I've put into bringing it up to my standards. My family and friends smile at me from their places on the bookshelves, end tables and walls, and thinking of them brings warmth to my heart. I've already chatted on the phone with my folks twice since I got to Seattle; and Rose and Emmett have emailed me the latest darling pictures of my adorable nephews. It's difficult to be so far from them; but, I remind myself, they are all just a plane ride away.

I pour myself a glass of red wine and flop down into my favorite comfortable armchair, with some documents I need to look over from the hospital. The office is so busy during the day, with people coming and going, that I've already realized that anything that I'll have to work to concentrate on, will pretty much have to be done from home, where there are no interruptions. Tonight's reading is some information on the hospital departments, the department heads and their administrative staff.

I start with the executive administration and work my way down the list. It's very dry reading; but I'll need to learn these names fairly quickly. Halfway through the list, my eyes light upon a name I know well. A name I've thought many, many times in my life; and almost incessantly in the past three days.

 _Cullen._

Not Edward, naturally; no, the Chief of Surgery is listed as Carlisle Cullen, M.D.

Edward's father.

The father he didn't mention to me while we were together. Not when we spoke, twice, about me starting my new job at Northwest Hospital. Not even a brief mention to say, "My father's on staff there."

To say I'm thrown by this realization is putting it mildly. I'm trying, and failing, to imagine myself in a similar circumstance. If someone mentioned to me that they worked for the Austin office of MotoTela, of course I would say, "Hey, my dad works there – maybe you know him?" Even someone who's not on the greatest terms with a parent or sibling would make a similar acknowledgement. Wouldn't they?

I don't know what to make of this. At this moment, I wish more than anything that I had asked Edward about his family when we were at breakfast Sunday morning; even though in my heart I realize that there's a good chance that if I had broached the subject before truly gaining Edward's trust, he might have shut down completely. Worse, he might have cut me out.

Still, the possibility that he has such a strained relationship with his parents that he didn't even acknowledge his father's existence to me; it hurts my heart. First, for his parents. Maybe it's silly to react that way; after all, I don't know his parents at all – maybe they were horrible to him when he came out. Maybe they were the kind of parents who were cold and uninvolved in their children's lives – many of my friends who were raised in lives of privilege had similar experiences. But having met his father that one time – a father who cares nothing for his child doesn't come to career day to talk to a bunch of 14 year olds, does he? And I try to imagine my parents' reaction to losing one of their children, and the thought of their broken hearts literally brings tears to my eyes.

Second, though, and most importantly, I'm concerned about Edward's emotional health. I'm barraged with questions, one after another, as though fired at me from a machine gun: Is his relationship with his parents so damaged that he wouldn't even mention his father? Is he in contact with them at all? If not, who chose to make the break? If it was his parents, was it because he's gay? If Edward chose the break, why would he abandon his parents? Is his sister Alice still in his life at all? And, most heartbreakingly – if Edward has forsaken his relationship with the people who should love him unconditionally, how badly damaged is he? Is it possible for him to love and trust, and accept those things from another?

My reading is tossed aside; it's impossible now to retain anything else in the pages. The weight of the emotional barrage is like a concrete block around my neck. Worse, I see no immediate relief from the questions that plague me.

"What am I doing?" I groan aloud. Emotionally, I'm already in far more deeply than I could have imagined could happen so quickly; and now, in a classic Jasper move of putting the cart before the horse, I am realizing that the object of my affection may not wish to return my feelings – or if he's even capable of doing so.

 _I am the asshole...I'm self-centered, and I'm cold…I don't have friends…people don't deal with me more than they have to…I'm sorry; the person you remember…he's gone._

His words taunt me. I didn't want to believe them when he said them, so certain that I saw something else there. And I did see it…didn't I? I jump up from my chair and pace now, unable to sit still. I'm second-guessing myself, and it's a very uncomfortable feeling. As I pace, my inner dialogue becomes a frantic, heated argument.

 _He didn't say a word about his father when you said you were starting at Northwest._

 _Maybe he didn't want to bring him up because he didn't want to talk about the state of their relationship._

 _What IS the state of their relationship?_

 _I don't know. He's a very private person. He hasn't shown himself to anyone in such a long time._

 _Maybe because he's not capable of showing emotion._

 _I saw him cry…_

 _Over a decade ago when he was still a baby!_

 _This weekend, though – he said thank you and he said my gift and he said our bed and he said he wants to see me when he gets back and he said he'll be thinking about me._

 _Which means…?_

 _He was trying._

 _An alcoholic can try to quit – it doesn't mean he'll be successful. Habits become deeply engrained – they're hard to break._

 _I have to believe that, in time and with love and patience, he can heal._

 _That's a big gamble to take, particularly when your heart is on the line._

 _LIFE is a gamble. Love is the payoff._

 _Wouldn't it be safer to go with a sure thing? Jacob loves you still…worships you, in fact._

 _I've done safe. Being with Jacob for three years – that was safe. I don't love him anymore._

 _Why Edward?_

 _Because if the payout comes…I will have hit the jackpot._

And that's it – the heart of why I am willing to wait and work and soothe and encourage. Because if this works out, I'll be with The One – the love of my lifetime. He is worth it. We are worth it.

I'm utterly worn out; and finally my pragmatic self is able to make its voice heard among the inner battle, and it reminds me that, for tonight at least, there is absolutely nothing I can do to change this situation or even learn anything else that would give me another perspective.

I get ready for bed and finally slide, exhausted, between the warm flannel sheets, under my thick down duvet. One final question does occur to me before I drift off to sleep – I hope I don't run into Dr. Cullen at the hospital before I've had a chance to get at least some cursory information from Edward about their relationship; and if I do, I hope he won't remember my name from Edward's high school years.

 _Enough_ , my brain insists. _Don't create problems that don't exist yet._ It is my last conscious thought.

-o-

I sleep poorly and awaken at six feeling entirely out of sorts. I stub my toe on the way to the kitchen. I get to the kitchen and find that, instead of a hot pot of coffee waiting for me, I am met with a kitchen counter and floor covered with mucky, coffee-ground-filled water, thanks to a plug in the basket of the coffee maker. I grumble, and clean up the counter and floor. Straightening up from the floor, I bang my head on an open cupboard door.

"Fuck!" I shout, and rubbing my head, I decide to abandon the idea of making my own coffee this morning. Instead, I head to the shower. I turn on the water and step in. I let the water soak through my hair, and reach for my shampoo. It's not where I expect it to be, and a quick look around me reveals that, at some point since my shower yesterday morning, it has fallen to the floor. The cap has snapped off and almost all of the shampoo has leaked out and is now washing down the drain. There is just enough left to wash my hair this morning, but I'll have to pick up some more today. I grit my teeth and try not to dwell on the fact that the bottle was nearly full.

I manage to get myself dressed and out the door without further incident, though I don't hold out any hope for a vast improvement to the day.

There is a serious accident on my way to work, and cars are being re-routed around it, bringing the flow of traffic to a near-standstill. I finally pull into the parking lot at the hospital with only two minutes to spare before my work day is to start. I swear again, under my breath this time, as I realize I won't have time to grab a coffee and bagel at the hospital cafeteria before I have to be at my office. As it is, I'll be a couple of minutes late. I gather my things from the front seat, and make a mad dash through the pouring rain across the parking lot to the hospital, not even bothering to use my umbrella. I skip the elevator in favor of mounting the stairwell the four floors to my office. By the time I emerge into the fourth-floor hallway, I am absolutely miserable. I'm wet from the rain and sweaty from the run up the stairs; I'm hungry, I'm decaffeinated, and I am just generally pissed off.

"Good morning, Jasper," greets my assistant Kathleen, looking up from her desk as I finally stride through the door of my department. "Good grief, what happened to you? You look like you've been through a war!"

"Close," I mutter. Rather that pour out my tale of woe, I ask, "Is there coffee?"

"Of course." Kathleen jumps up and continues, "You go get yourself settled. I'll grab you a coffee from the cafeteria – it's better than what we have here."

Her generous offer makes me feel a bit guilty at not even having greeted her properly. I reply, "That would be fantastic, Kathleen. I really appreciate it." I manage a smile, the very least she deserves.

"Have you eaten?" she asks, and now my guilt increases exponentially.

"No," I admit sheepishly.

"Okay – I'll bring you back a bagel too – sound good?" She smiles warmly.

My smile widens with gratitude for her kindness, and I reply, "That sounds great. Thank you so much. You wouldn't believe the morning I've had already."

"Don't mention it," she grins. "You look like you could use a bit of caretaking." And she's out the door in search of sustenance for poor, bedraggled me.

I head into my office and dump my wet messenger bag and umbrella on the floor; and hang up my coat. I fire up my computer and unpack my papers from my bag, arranging them on my desk in the order in which I'll want to work on them. I take a deep breath and decide it's a good idea to spend a few moments to get centered again; focus, get myself back to a reasonable perspective.

I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. I know that on a normal day, if one - or even several - of these little annoyances had happened this morning, I'd have breezed past them with my usual philosophical attitude, barely noticing them. This morning, I'm much more sensitive to the little frustrations than I should be, and I know exactly why.

After a few moments, a knock at my office door makes me jump. I turn to see a man standing in my doorway holding what is clearly a paper-wrapped bouquet of flowers. I briefly wonder if today is Kathleen's birthday.

"Sorry, buddy; didn't mean to startle you. There was no one at the other desk," he says.

I sigh. "Don't worry about it. How can I help you?"

"Flower delivery for…" he pauses to check the tag, "J. Whitlock. Is that your secretary?"

"No," I answer as my eyebrows shoot up over my forehead, "that's me." I stand and automatically reach for my wallet to tip the delivery man, who looks almost as surprised as I am that I'm the one receiving the flower delivery. I swap him the tip for the flowers.

"Well, okay; thank you, sir; and enjoy the flowers, Mr. Whitlock," he smiles, and turns to leave, almost bumping into Kathleen who stands there with a coffee and a bagel.

"Wow," she says after he leaves, and she places the coffee and bagel on my desk, with a little package of cream cheese. "Aren't you lucky!"

Before I unwrap the flowers, I thank Kathleen profusely for being so gracious, and add, "Please believe me when I tell you that I'm just having a bad morning. Normally I'm not so taciturn in the mornings. Never, actually. I'm very sorry for my rudeness this morning."

Kathleen chuckles and replies, "You're forgiven. How can I resist that smile? Now, let's see those flowers!"

"Okay, okay!" I laugh, thinking to myself that Kathleen and I are going to be good friends. I unwrap the paper from the bouquet. Inside is a beautiful bouquet of white snowdrops and purple crocuses. A card is nestled among the blossoms. I open it and read the message, written by the florist.

 _Jasper,_

 _These are already in bloom in Vancouver._

 _Looking forward to seeing you again._

 _-Edward_

My heart skips a beat. Edward is thinking about me.

"From your significant other?" Kathleen asks, and I look up to see her still smiling at me.

"I guess. I mean – we haven't been out that many times…but I'm hoping," I stumble, not even sure what to tell her about what Edward and I are…or aren't.

"Well, looks like she's hoping too," she says politely, turning to leave my office.

 _She._ I'm used to heterosexism, and sometimes I let it go; but there is no point at all in allowing Kathleen to assume that I'm straight. Best to get it out of the way the first time it comes up.

"He," I correct gently.

"What?" she asks, whirling around to face me.

"I'm gay, Kathleen. The flowers aren't from a woman; they're from a man," I clarify.

She scowls. "Shit," she mutters under her breath.

Suddenly I'm not feeling quite as optimistic about a friendship with Kathleen. I square my shoulders and pull out the Jazz Stare. "I expect that won't be an issue for you."

Her face immediately changes – her scowl melts and a look of recognition replaces it. "Oh, Jasper! No, that's not what I meant. I'm so sorry; I know I must be giving you a horrible impression of me. It's just…I just lost twenty bucks to Ellen down the hall! She swore you were gay, and I was certain you were straight."

"Ah!" I chuckle, reminded that the speculation always runs rampant when a new person joins a workplace. I'm relieved, too, that my sexuality isn't going to cause our work relationship to be stilted. "Okay, Kathleen. I think I've wasted enough time this morning; time for me to get to work."

"Yeah, apparently I need to go find Ellen," she mumbles. "Of course, she doesn't actually know she's right yet…"

She's gone, and finally I can hug the beautiful purple and white bouquet to my face and inhale deeply, embracing the bouquet, the sentiment behind it, and by proxy, the man who sent them to me. My heart is soaring. All the troubles, all the bothersome things that have happened today – none of them matter now. They were minor inconveniences.

This is real. This is what's important to me. And I have faith, in myself at the very least, that I will be able to see it through. And now…I can't wait for Edward to come back to Seattle. Back _home_.

-o-


	9. Chapter 9

-o-

 _Edward_

One thing I've always loved about my job is the travel. I'm certainly not what anyone would consider a homebody. I love seeing new cities, new countries; I love filling up my passport. I even love flying. I have never minded hotels. And of course, the best part of frequent travel: new clubs and new guys. An almost limitless supply of untested waters. When I get to a city I've never visited before, the first thing I do is find out where the local gay nightlife is. Having been to Vancouver many times, I know that at Pulse or Numbers, in less than ten minutes I could pick up a hot trick to bring back to my hotel room.

So where has the Club King been spending his evenings this trip? Other than the location studio, I've spent every night in my hotel room. Watching TV. Ordering room service. Alone, mind you; I haven't been with anyone since my Sunday morning shower fuck with Jasper. I haven't gone this long without sex since college, and rubbing one out before bed just isn't the same.

For three nights in a row, I've gone to bed _at a reasonable hour_ \- a concept entirely foreign to me - but my sleep is broken. Every time I drift off, an angel comes to me, his halo of soft blonde curls illuminated by some ethereal light. The angel's face has sparkling green eyes that shine as he looks at me with a face full of adoration and acceptance. He whispers softly to me – the words are unintelligible, but the intent is unmistakable: love. The feeling is sweet and pure, and in my dream I feel like I am wrapped in a cocoon of warmth.

But then I wake up, and the warmth is ripped away. My chest cavity aches with emptiness and cold; my arms reach out but find nothing. I have an intense physical need for him; but even more, my heart misses him.

 _My heart._ For so long it's been lifeless, like a paralyzed limb that hangs useless. I have worked hard to deaden the inconvenient pangs that used to seize me when I thought about my parents and my sister; killed the memories of the happy family we were before I destroyed us by coming out. Not even that guilt can affect me any longer. I have been wont to consider myself successfully self-sufficient. No need for love – no _desire_ for love.

Until the angel's human counterpart tore the fabric of my life just a few short days ago.

Now – I have desires. I want to feel him inside me. I want to stroke his dimples with his thumbs while I fuck his beautiful mouth. And I want to feel that balloon expand again in my chest until I feel it'll rip me apart. I want to lay my head on his chest while he wraps his arms around me and holds me tight to him. I want his soft whispers.

I check the clock. It's 5 a.m. on Wednesday. Four more hours. In four hours he'll get to work and he'll receive the flowers I've arranged to have delivered to him. I have never, in my life, bought flowers; let alone sent them to anyone. I stretch out and run my hand through my hair, second-guessing my attempt at a thoughtful gesture. I am entirely out of my depth. Is it too banal? All I can hope is that he will see the token for what it is – a small souvenir to let him know that I've been thinking about him while I'm away.

I wonder whether he'll understand why I haven't called him. After everything that happened Saturday night and Sunday morning, I found myself in desperate need of some distance, an opportunity to get perspective on the things that happened between us and that happened in me. The time we spent together…was it truly only a few hours? The ardency, the physical intensity and the raw, bleeding emotion he left as he excised the dead parts of my soul – it doesn't seem possible that it all took place in less than twelve hours.

In my alone time I have contemplated my future. Until now, my life has been satisfactory, if not happy. My work, my playtime, and my alone time. It's straightforward, free from the concerns of having to factor in someone else's feelings. It may not be the life everyone wants, but I haven't felt that anything was missing. I haven't wanted what I didn't have.

Now, I go to work and find my mind wandering. I think about Jasper. I wonder what he's doing; I wonder if he has plans for the upcoming weekend. I wonder what his favorite food is; and his musical tastes. And I know I won't be satisfied with just idle musings – I truly want to learn these things about him. I want to take the time to discover him, like gently peeling back the leaves of an artichoke to find the brilliant scarlet heart inside. His heart. It must be so luminous – it radiates joy and love throughout him, and those lucky enough to be near him, the happy recipients of his gentle, beaming smile, can't help but feel it. Even a cold, dead bastard like me. _The sunshine of your love._

Jesus Christ. I'm thinking in superlatives and quoting song lyrics to myself.

I shake my head. There's no point in sitting here any longer; I won't be able to go back to sleep. I decide to get a head-start on the day. I get up and shower, then order some breakfast. As I've done the past two mornings, I linger over my breakfast, wishing I wasn't eating alone.

Finally, I tell myself get a grip, focus on the matters at hand. It's time to head to the location studio to render some image effects before the shoot. As I commute to the site, I reflect on how well the shoot has gone so far; if things continue today as they have been, I'll be on a plane back to Seattle tonight.

I get to work and head into the studio. Time slips away and before I know it, the shoot location manager is knocking on the door, reminding me that it's time to get underway.

"Be there in two seconds," I reply. As I finish up what I'm working on, my cell phone buzzes, notifying me of a text message. I open it up and on the screen pops up a photo. It's the angel from my dreams, his beaming smile warm even through a grainy cell phone photo. He's holding a bouquet of deep purple and white blossoms. _He got them._ Below the image is a simple caption.

 _Almost as beautiful as you. Thank you._

 _Miss you,_

 _Jasper_

The image and the caption are so welcome; and yet the feeling they bring me is so sudden, so unexpected that for a moment I must stop and clutch the worktable for support. I feel as though a hand has reached into my chest cavity, and is squeezing my black heart, attempting to force it to beat as a human heart should. It's an odd mix of exquisite pleasure and gripping pain.

I breathe deeply for a moment or two, attempting steady my heart and my legs. When I feel well enough, I leave the studio and head to the location. When I arrive there, the location manager looks at me and then does a double-take.

"Jesus, Edward – are you okay?" he asks uneasily. "You look like shit."

"Thanks so much, Mike," I return acerbically. "You always know just what to say."

"Are you going to be able to do the shoot, or not?" he demands. He's not the least bit concerned about me, except where it interferes with his timetable. I suppose I deserve that, since I've never been concerned about him either.

"I'm fine," I mutter, eyeing him with annoyance. "Let's do this thing."

"Okay, people…" he begins, and he's off, running through the scenario for the first scene of the morning.

As I hoped, the day passes quickly, with only a few minor hold-ups. By the time we're finished, it's after 6 pm. I check flight schedules; there's a flight back tonight, leaving at 9 pm; or one tomorrow morning at 9:30. After debating the merits of the two options, I decide to stay in Vancouver one more night and fly back tomorrow. I'm hungry and worn out, and I might as well get a good sleep before returning to Seattle.

I decide to take myself out to dinner, since I no longer have to rush to catch a flight. I head to the best Thai food restaurant I've ever been to, silently thanking the food gods for Vancouver's large Asian community. After an amazing dinner of chicken, peppers and bamboo shoots in a spicy coconut milk and green curry sauce, I'm stuffed.

Back at my hotel, I flip open my phone and, for the hundredth time today, gaze at my angel's face. I flop into a chair and groan; the clutching at my heart is back, and I miss him desperately. Earlier today, I was glad that he didn't call to thank me for the flowers; he is giving me the space he knows I need. But now, the need to hear his voice is overpowering. Before I know what I'm doing, I have dialed his cell phone number and I'm listening to it ring. Once, twice; and on the third ring he picks up.

"Hello?" he answers, and the sound of his voice makes my heart spasm. The sensation is so foreign that I can't identify it as either pain or pleasure.

"Jasper," I manage to whisper.

"Hello, beautiful," he replies softly, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "I'm glad you called. How are you? How's Vancouver?"

"Lonely," I admit, knowing I'm answering both questions at once.

"I'm sorry to hear that." He sounds genuinely saddened.

"I finished the shoot this afternoon; but I'm just too tired to fly back tonight. I'm coming home tomorrow morning," I promise.

"What time does your flight get in?" he asks.

"Around 10:30," I reply.

"Hmmm…fourteen hours," he muses.

I chuckle at him. "Does that mean you're counting the minutes?"

"Trying not to, but…yeah. When I'm home it's pretty hard to think of anything else," he admits.

"Oh, hey – how's the job going?" I ask, suddenly remembering that he's got some changes to adjust to as well.

"Um…" he hesitates, "it's fine."

"Well, that was convincing," I reply dubiously.

"No, really," and he sounds as though he's making an effort to sound more positive. "It's a bit overwhelming, getting use to an entirely new system of workflows. But everyone is great – very nice. My assistant is hilarious. She was very excited about my flowers," he chuckles.

"I'm glad it's going well." I have no doubt that Jasper has no difficulty making friendships wherever he goes. His easy good humor would ensure that.

There is a pause; for several moments neither of us says anything. There is so much I want to say, but not on the phone. I need to see his face, gauge his reaction…be close to his warm embrace.

Finally he breaks the silence. "I'm…I'm really glad you called. I missed hearing your voice," he murmurs.

I sigh. I feel the same way, and it feels disingenuous not to tell him. So I do. "I miss you."

Another pause. "I'm looking at the flowers now. They're beautiful; thank you again. Getting them made my day."

"You brought them home?" Somehow I imagined them sitting on his desk at work.

"I may just carry them with me everywhere I go until you get back," he admits sheepishly.

"Good thing I come back tomorrow," I chuckle. "At this rate, the flowers will be shredded by the time I get back."

"Hurry," he says, a sudden urgency in his tone. Suddenly I desperately wish I had taken tonight's flight. It's too late now; there's no way I'll make it to the airport for the 9 pm flight. Briefly, I wonder if I could stay awake to make the two-and-a-half-hour drive back, if I rented a car. Of course, it's a foolish whim, quickly dismissed.

Instead I have to settle for more honesty. "I wish I was already there."

"What would you do if you were?" he whispers hoarsely.

I groan softly, knowing what he's asking for. It's the only acceptable substitute for what both of us really want. 140 miles apart – it'll have to do.

"The first thing I'd do is kiss your sweet lips, long and deep." I get up from the chair and relax onto my bed. "I'd taste your tongue, suck it into my mouth. I'd nibble your bottom lip." I hear his breathing catch. "I'd take your shirt off and I'd suck on your nipples until they turn to marbles under my tongue. I'd lick down your stomach, and I'd undo your zipper and slide your jeans down over your beautiful ass." I'm now sliding down my pants and boxer briefs over _my_ ass, kicking them off. My hand strokes up the inside of one thigh and then the other; it cups my balls and I squeeze them gently, groaning at the delicious pleasure. "I'd kneel in front of you and I'd worship your beautiful cock with my mouth."

At the other end of the line I hear him groan, and I grasp my cock as I know he is too. "I'd take you deep in my throat, and then I'd tease you with my tongue, bring you to the edge over and over. And then, when you couldn't fucking stand it anymore, I'd lay you down on your back, and after I put a rubber on you, I'd sit on your cock. Uhh…it's so fucking hard." His groans become more urgent. "It's stretching me out, sliding deep in my ass..." I moan, imagining that Jasper's hands are stroking me as I rock up and down on his cock.

"Uhhh, beautiful, you're so tight," he gasps. "Fuck, I'm close…can't stop…" And I can no longer form the words to continue my fantasy. Jasper and I moan together as our orgasms take us. My climax brings pleasure, of course; but it's sharp, almost painful, to experience this release with him and not be able to touch him, not be able to watch his face transcend what should be all limits of human beauty.

When the orgasm subsides, I'm left feeling raw. I wished for the balloon to return to my chest; but now that it's there, I'm absolutely aware that the balloon, expanded and taut, is also empty – completely vacant. I have spent so much time by myself; yet I have never felt so utterly alone. How could I have wished for _this_?

Jasper, at the other end of the line, is ignorant to the fact that my soul is exposed and bleeding. He is murmuring endearments, thanking me; and I can't respond. I can barely get my breath. He pauses, clearly awaiting a reply; and after a moment he speaks again.

"Hey – did you pass out already?" he asks playfully.

I can only gasp out, "Jasper…"

Immediately Jasper's voice is alert. "Edward? What's happening? Are you okay?" I can't answer right away, and he persists. "Edward? Can you speak? Please tell me what's wrong! Are you sick?" His voice is bordering on panic now, and I know I've got to get my shit together before he calls the entire fucking British Columbia Ambulance Service to my hotel room. Not that he even knows where I'm staying; but, after all, it _is_ Jasper – who the fuck knows what connections he has to track me down.

I wage a swift battle for an ounce of composure and manage to say, "Jasper, I'm okay; I'm not sick. Please, calm down; just give me a minute."

"You're not sick? Are you sure?" He's still alarmed, not the least bit convinced.

"I'm not; I promise," I try to reassure him. "Just…stay on the phone with me for a while."

"Of course," he readily agrees, sounding marginally relieved.

We sit in silence on the phone as I attempt to breathe, trying to talk myself out of my loneliness. _Less than 24 hours. Minus sleep time. Get a fucking grip. You didn't KNOW him five days ago._ My internal dialogue, scolding me for my weakness, eventually grounds me; and the balloon deflates as I'm finally able to release a long breath.

"Okay," I say. "I think I'm okay now."

"Jesus, Edward…" he whispers, "what the fuck was that? You scared the shit out of me." He sniffs a bit, and I realize he's whispering so that I can't hear the tears in his voice.

"Jasper – shh. Please don't be upset," I plead softly. Hearing him be so affected by my anxieties is heartrending. "I had a moment of…I don't even know…loneliness, I guess."

"Loneliness?" he repeats slowly.

Time for honesty. "I miss you. So much." It's direct and it's incisive. But that's what my truth is. My truth is never poetic or pretty or sweet.

After a brief pause, he replies simply, "I miss you."

Suddenly, I'm tired. Exhausted beyond anything I've known. I sink into my pillow and pull the covers over my fatigued body, not even bothering to pull off my shirt. I desperately need to sleep; but I don't know if I have the strength to end this phone call.

"Stay on the phone with me until I go to sleep," I entreat him. "Or…fall asleep on the phone with me."

"Edward, I can stay awake to end the call; otherwise it'll cost you a fortune-"

"I don't care if it costs me a thousand fucking dollars! Please," I plead, "fall asleep with me."

"Okay, shhh; please don't get yourself upset again. We'll fall asleep together," he soothes.

I exhale, too relieved and worn out to even feel dismayed with myself for being so clingy. I roll onto my side, nestle my cell phone against my ear; and then I reach to the other side of the bed, the side on which the pillows have sat untouched for the last three nights. I pull one of them to my chest, and I hug it tightly. It's not the same – obviously it's not. But much like a stuffed animal was comforting in childhood even when you'd rather have had your parents, the pillow makes me feel secure.

"Goodnight, Jasper," I whisper. "See you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, beautiful Edward," he murmurs back. "Sweet dreams."

It is my last conscious remembrance before I fall asleep. Without him; but with him nonetheless.

-o-


	10. Chapter 10

-o-

 _Jasper_

It's shortly after 6 pm. I'm in my apartment, dashing around nervously, trying to make sure everything is absolutely perfect. Edward is back in Seattle, and very soon, he'll be _here_.

A lasagna is in the oven, and a Caesar salad is prepared and waiting in the fridge. Wine is breathing. The table is set, and the centerpiece is a familiar, beloved bouquet of purple and white blossoms. The cheesecake I picked up on the way home sits on the counter.

I stand in the living room and survey the scene. Briefly I wonder if I should light a couple of candles; but decide against it, instead using some soft lamps for ambient lighting. Finally I take a deep breath to steady my nerves. Perfect.

Edward should arrive any moment, and my mind wanders back to this morning. Waking up with my cell phone welded to the side of my face, the outline of the keys imprinted into my cheek. Waiting for his text to tell me his flight had landed; calling him to make plans for tonight. I couldn't leave work to meet him at the airport – only my fourth day at work, a bit soon to start taking extra-long lunches – but this is better anyways. I know that once I see him, when we are back in each other's arms, I won't want to let go.

I am so keyed up, so ready to see him, feel him, kiss him, that I feel like I could literally begin to bounce off the walls – the human equivalent of a pinball game. The buzz of the intercom makes me jump, despite the fact that it is an utterly welcome sound. He's here.

I dash to the intercom. "Yes," I say, more as a statement than a question; and the most beautiful, velvet voice answers me.

"Jasper…" he says simply, soft and low.

"Door's open," I reply, pressing the button. And I wait, eyes closed; standing by the door. The seconds tick by, and I wait, and I breathe. I hear the muffled ding of the elevator down the hall outside my apartment door; the elevator door sliding open. My heart is fucking pounding in my ears. And then, a gentle knock on the door. Silently I count…1, 2, 3…and then I grasp the handle and open the door.

And there he is. My beautiful, exquisite boy stands before me. For a moment I can only look, drink in his presence like a sweet wine. And then in one step I hurl myself into his arms, forcing him to take a step back, further into the hall. I drop my head to his shoulder, inhaling his fragrance. Holding him as physically close to me as I possibly can. Never wanting to release him. He grips me tightly too, his head turned inwards so that his face is buried in the side of my neck. We haven't yet said even one word, save the brief intercom exchange. Right now we don't need words.

My heart is pounding, galloping away; and it's not sexual arousal that has my pulse elevated. It's throbbing with the overwhelming emotion at seeing him again. Finally I release him just enough to withdraw my head from his neck, and placing my mouth at the level of his ear, I whisper, "Welcome home."

Without a word, he turns his face to meet mine. Our lips meet, sweet and passionate; not deeply, but that will come later. The kiss holds all my relief, tenderness and emotion; I hope he'll feel how much I've missed him.

Finally he breaks the kiss and whispers, "Shall we go inside before your neighbors start to gossip about the new tenant?"

Of course. I haven't even invited him in yet. Briefly, it occurs to me that my mother, the consummate hostess, would be mortified. I pull out of the embrace, capturing his hand in mine and drawing him in past me through the doorway. As he passes me, I'm seized by a sudden juvenile impulse to stick out my tongue at the peep hole in the door across the hall from mine. I have no idea, of course, whether anyone's watching; but the euphoria I feel at having him back with me makes me giddy and silly. My childish moment over, I close my door and turn to face him.

"Can I take your coat?" I offer, and he shrugs out of his light grey pea jacket. I hang it in the closet as he removes his shoes. And then for another moment we stare each other down. This time he is the one to step forward to me. Rather than pulling me close again, he places his hands on my forearms, gently stroking up and down. Still he says nothing for another moment; seemingly just relishing being in proximity to me. And then one hand comes up to cup my face along the jaw line; his thumb gently stroking my ever-present dimple. "I'm glad to see you, Jasper," he murmurs.

"I missed you, beautiful," I reply softly; and he moves in to once again press his lips to mine. His mouth is soft, moist and warm; it opens and his tongue slides out to stroke my lower lip. I open and take his tongue into my mouth, caressing it with my own, sucking gently. Of the many kisses I've experienced in my lifetime, none has ever been so sweet, so pure; unadulterated tenderness and ardor flow between us.

Too soon, I need to breathe, and I have to break the kiss. I rest my forehead against his, closing my eyes for a long moment; reminding myself that he's really here. I gently stroke his hair and sigh deeply.

Soon he breaks the silence by remarking, "Something smells amazing."

I pull back and smile. "I know you said you only have carbs on Sundays; but maybe you could do Carbs Thursday this week instead. I made lasagna."

"I'll try to adjust," he grins back.

"Good. It'll be ready in twenty minutes or so. Would you like a glass of wine?"

"Sure; red, if you have it," he replies.

"Okay – sit, I'll join you in a second," I gently push him in the direction of the couch. I pour two glasses of red wine. I present one to him, and sit sideways next to him on the couch, tucking one leg underneath me and facing him so I can just look at him. "So, how was Vancouver? I haven't been there since before I left Washington."

"It was fine," he replies, shrugging a bit. "I really didn't see the city this time; just had dinner out last night."

"Really? I had a friend in San Francisco who said the clubs on Davie Street are pretty great," referring to Vancouver's gay village.

"I've been before; a few of them are worth going to," he offers.

"Too busy with work?" I persist.

"Well..." he hesitates, "not that busy. My evenings were pretty well free."

"Okay," I reply slowly. I stare into my wine glass; I'm dubious, but I really have nothing to support my doubts. Still - he stayed at his hotel and went nowhere, despite a lively club scene?

"I didn't go out," he adds, as though reading my thoughts. I meet his eyes and he holds my gaze steadily. He certainly looks secure. "I didn't feel like dancing, and I didn't feel like...company." And then he leans closer; his arm extends across the back of the couch towards me, his hand resting on my shoulder. "Actually, that's not entirely accurate. I _really_ wanted your company."

A lump materializes in my throat, and my eyes swim. This is a really inconvenient time to be a man who cries easily; but there's nothing I can do to stop it – the Jazz Stare is obviously completely inappropriate for this situation. As a couple of tears spill over, I scoot closer, into the shelter under his arm, and lay my head on his shoulder. He wraps his arm tightly around my shoulder and holds me against his side. His other hand strokes my jaw for a few moments and he kisses the top of my head. I hear him inhale, as though he's breathing in my scent. In a moment my suspicion is confirmed as he exhales with a soft, "Mmm." I could stay like this forever; and for long moments, we do. Not speaking - just being together.

Eventually it occurs to me that I should get up and check on the lasagna. I lift my face, press my lips gently against his, and then pull back with a smile. "I should check on dinner."

"If you must," he grins. As I retreat to the kitchen, his words follow me, "Can I help with anything?"

"I've got things covered in here. Wanna put some music on? My iPod is in the stereo dock, if you want to find something you like," I suggest.

I remove the foil from the lasagna, and my stomach growls as the mouth-watering aroma rushes around me. I take the salad and the dressing out of the fridge, toss them and carry the bowl out to the table. Edward is just pressing play on my iPod. "About another ten minutes," I smile at him.

"Just enough time," he replies, and the opening bars of Miles Davis' "It Never Entered My Mind" begin to flow out of the stereo speakers. He walks to the open living room floor and holds out his hand to me, smiling questioningly at me. " _Now_ I feel like dancing."

My eyebrows shoot up as I realize that Edward Cullen is asking me to dance. To one of my favorite songs, no less.

I smile broadly in return, and join him in the middle of the floor. His arms slide around my waist; mine rest on his shoulders and link behind his neck. Wordlessly, we sway gently to the jazz quartet, gazing into each other's eyes. As we dance, it occurs to me that this song, though beautiful, is actually a very sad one. Miles Davis' version doesn't have vocals; but the song's lyrics written by Lorenz Hart mourn the end of a relationship, from the point of view of one who didn't see it coming.

The song ends, but I don't want to stop yet. "My turn to choose a song," I grin, and untangle myself from him briefly. I know the song I want to play for him, to listen to as I hold him to me. The song is "I'll See It Through" by Texas. The lyrics are much more appropriate; in fact, it's possible that they express exactly how I feel when I think of my relationship with Edward. I scroll to the song, and press play, then dash back to his arms. I pull him close to me and he rests his head on my shoulder, his nose nuzzled against my neck.

 _When you touch me  
I feel there's nothing you can do to turn me away  
And I know that  
In the past you've had bad luck so I should help you stay_

"You're very good at this," I murmur into his ear.

"Really? It's my first time," he replies softly.

Oh my god. He's never slow-danced before? My heart wrenches just a bit at the thought. I'm disgusted that no one else in Edward's life has ever bothered to attempt to push the envelope, to challenge him. It's a fucking tragedy that no one has ever recognized what I have glimpsed in just a few short days – the potential for scorching passion and fierce devotion.

 _You're all I ever wanted  
You're all I ever needed - it's you  
You're all I've ever wanted  
And loving you's the right thing to do  
And I'll see it through  
_

I pull him tighter, silently apologizing to him for all the people who've failed him; all the ones who were so easily defeated by his outward difficult veneer. The ones who made him feel as though he was unlovable, contemptible. I know the loss is theirs; but he has missed out on so much as a result.

 _I'll show you the love in my head  
I'll show you the love that we had_

I softly kiss his exposed cheek, again and again, until the song fades away.

"So how was your first time?" I ask teasingly, trying to lighten my own mood after my malevolent reflections on the people in his life.

"Oh, Jasper," he takes on a girlish, breathy tone, playing the game along with me, "You're so super-dreamy! It was wonderful!" A head tilt and a lift-your-eyes-to-the-sky gesture accompany the gushy voice. I throw my head back and laugh at his perfect imitation of a starry-eyed teenage girl, and his velvet laughter joins mine.

When the laughter dies down, I continue, "I'm glad you felt like dancing. I hope you also feel like," I clear my throat, " _company._ " I quirk one eyebrow meaningfully as I repeat the word he used earlier.

In response, he pulls my hips a bit closer to his, pressing his semi-erect cock against me. "Mmm, I definitely feel like _company_ ," he replies, flashing his crooked grin and exaggerating the last word. "But first - I feel like dinner! I'm starving, and that lasagna smells amazing."

"Oh, damn! The lasagna!" I exclaim, and dash for the kitchen.

"Uh-oh," I hear him say from the living room. "I hope I didn't ruin it."

But the lasagna is done to perfection, and bubbling happily as I remove it from the oven. "Perfect," I smile with satisfaction. I love to cook, and I'm good at it. I feel his hand slide across the small of my back, and he's standing beside me, craning his head around my shoulder, inhaling reverently over the steaming pan.

"My mouth is literally watering," he sighs.

"This needs to sit for a couple of minutes. Shall we start with our salads?" I suggest, and he nods. As he turns to head back to the living room, he spies the wine bottle on the counter and snags it to take to the table.

He has already retrieved our wine glasses from the coffee table and placed them by our settings on the dinner table. I sit and start to plate the Caesar salad as he tops up the wine glasses. Fleetingly, I imagine that this is what it could be like every evening for us. I know I should feel as though it's way too soon to even hope for it; and yet it doesn't seem irrational to dream.

The wine poured, he sits down at his place. I've set the table so that we sit at two sides of the same corner, rather than across from each other.

"Thank you for making dinner," he smiles at me.

"I'm glad you're here to enjoy it with me," I reply, and we both dig in to our salads. The dressing is extra garlicky – the only way to make it. As we eat, we chat a bit about his shoot, the location manager who sounds like an absolute douche, and his favorite photography subjects. Our salads gone, I grab the plates and retreat into the kitchen to plate up a generous helping of lasagna for each of us. Over the lasagna, he asks me about my job.

I hesitate, unsure whether I should bring up the subject of Carlisle being on staff at the hospital; and why Edward didn't tell me. For tonight, I decide against it. I don't want to be the catalyst for any angsty shit tonight. I just want a relaxing dinner with him. And then, I want to fuck his brains out.

So I tell him instead about my hilarious assistant, Kathleen, and her bet with our co-worker Ellen about my "orientation"; and he snickers. I tell him about the steady stream of female employees (and a few men) who came to my office that day to check out my Man Flowers; and he snorts. I tell him about my struggles with the hospital's computer network and the IT employee who told me that he wasn't authorized to adjust my security settings so I could be allowed access to the hospital's financial data; and he roars. I tell him about the comedy of errors that was my Wednesday morning; and he guffaws, tears streaming down his face, begging me to stop when I get to the part about the shampoo bottle.

Finally, after coffee and cheesecake, after the table is cleared and the dishes are done – him washing, me drying – we are sitting on the couch. I am sitting at one end, my legs stretched out across Edward's lap; chatting about music, food, movies. Edward's arm rests along the back of the couch, his hand beside my shoulder; and every once in a while, he reaches up with a finger or two to caress my cheek, or play with a stray curl of my hair.

After a brief, comfortable pause in the conversation, he sigh. "I missed you," he muses. "And I want to thank you...for last night. For humoring me."

I sit up a little straighter and cock one eyebrow at him. "Humoring you?" I repeat.

His eyes drop to his lap. "I'm sorry I freaked out. It was really good of you to stay on the phone with me."

He's apologizing to me for having an anxiety attack? I pull my legs back from on top of his, and I get to my knees beside him, taking his face in my hands; but his eyes don't meet mine. "You don't need to apologize for anything, Edward. I felt horrible that you were in so much distress; I wish I could have been there to help you."

He looks at me now, and almost whispers, "You were."

We gaze into each other's eyes for a long moment, and then I shift up onto one knee and bring the other across his body, so that I am straddling his lap. My hands remain on his face, and his slide up my outer thighs to rest on my hips. He pulls me gently nearer, sliding my ass closer so that it rests over his groin. My hands come up to his tousled bronze locks, and gently pull his head back, exposing the smooth skin on his neck and collarbone.

I lean in and trace the muscle under his skin with my lips, up to under his ear, and down to his collar. Soon I add my tongue, painting a softly glistening line. His breathing gets deeper, and even through our jeans, I can feel his cock hardening beneath me. I switch to the other side of his neck and make little gentle sucking kisses up and down his neck. He moans softly each time he breathes out.

Soon his hands slide up from my hips, under the hem of my sweater. Slowly and carefully, they glide up the bare skin of my back until he reaches my shoulder blades. I release him for a moment, lifting my arms into the air so he can pull it off. As it comes off, his mouth comes forward suddenly, eagerly; and he captures one of my nipples carefully in his teeth. I gasp at the unexpected sensation, then bury my hands again in his hair and lean into the pleasure. His long fingers trace up my back and down my sides, occasionally travelling lower to palm and squeeze my ass.

The foreplay is unhurried, tactile; and incredibly erotic. We make out, touching lips and hands and arms, basking in the sensation. I slip his shirt off of him, and the feeling of my bare chest against his is miraculous.

Finally he puts one arm around my waist, and with the other, he braces against the back of the couch and pushes himself up off the seat. He's several inches shorter than me, and yet he can pick me up and carry me, my legs wrapped around his waist. One of my hands involuntarily travels down to his strong bicep, as though I have to feel it to believe it.

"Where's your bedroom?" he pants into my mouth. I gesture with my head down the small hallway off the foyer, and he carries me down the hall and into my room, still plying my mouth with languid kisses.

In my room, he climbs onto my bed and leans down so that I am lying back, my legs still wrapped tightly around his waist. He unlatches them gently, and sits back on his heels. Wordlessly, he unbuttons my jeans and pulls them down and away, exposing my naked sex as I have no underwear on.

"Mmm," he murmurs, "even more spectacular than I remembered." He quickly steps off the bed to lose his own pants and boxer briefs, and then resumes his place between my open thighs.

"Remember what I said I'd do if I were here?" he whispers huskily. I can only moan in anticipation of what's coming. "I said I'd worship your cock with my mouth." And his head lowers to hover over the head of my cock. And worship it he does. It's certainly a spiritual experience for me, as his warm, talented mouth and his deep throat go to work to tease and torment me. True to his word, he brings me to the edge several times before easing his attentions.

"Condoms?" he rasps. I reach to my night table and open the drawer, grabbing my lube and a strip of condoms. He tears one off the strip, opens it and starts to roll it down...my cock?

"What are you doing?" I manage to croak.

"Have you forgotten already?" he grins wickedly. "I'm going to sit on your cock." He grabs the lube and starts to carefully and slowly lube my gloved cock, which is now so hard that it's actually painful. He then uses his own fingers to prepare himself for me. He sets the lube back on the table and lifts himself up to hover top of me. I feel his asshole resting gently against the head of my cock.

"Wait..." I gasp, though at this point I have no idea how I'm able to form a coherent sentence. "Are you sure?" I've only had him that way once, and obviously I realize what a monumental surrender that was for him. I don't want him to feel as though this is something I will demand from him since we've already done it once.

"Jasper, I want this from you," he whispers, and leans down to place a kiss on my lips. "Please - I want you to fuck me." As those words leave his mouth, he gently pushes the head of my cock past his outer breach. We gasp together at the sensational feeling; and for a moment we are both still, save for the trembling of our limbs as they anticipate our activities. Then slowly, he pushes harder, sliding himself further down around my aching cock. His face is so beautiful above me, painted with a combination of pleasure and discomfort as he adjusts to my substantial size. Once I am fully seated inside him, he relaxes a bit, and again holds his position. He is so tight; I feel as though my mind might explode along with my cock. Finally he begins to slowly rock up and down, seemingly making every nerve in my hyper-sensitive body scream for mercy. He impales himself on my cock over and over, pushing harder and deeper each time he drops his ass down to land on my thighs.

I am desperately trying to hold back my orgasm, but he's so tight, and I've missed him so much; I know that all too soon, my efforts will be in vain. So I whisper, "Play with your cock, beautiful. I want you to come with me." His hands come up to grasp his cock; one wraps around the shaft and slowly pumps; the other, he licks his finger and traces around the sensitive underside of the head. I lift him up marginally onto his knees, and, bringing my knees up, I start to lift my ass off the bed, drilling my screaming cock up into him. Our moans fill the room as we build toward climax. His face tenses, signalling that he's ready to come, and I shout, "Come with me now, beautiful! Cover me in your hot cum!"

Immediately he groans loudly, shouting my name over and over; and incredible spurts of his hot white spunk decorate my chest and neck. I thrust upward, hard, once more; and push into him as hard as I can as my own release rocks me, holding my cock deep inside him. His ass spasms with his climax, milking my cock for every bit of my cum; until we are both completely spent, and he collapses onto my chest, my cock still inside him.

"Uhhh..." he moans, still occasionally twitching around me as his body lets go of the tension. "That was..." He trails off and simply shakes his head, at a loss for words.

"A gift," I supply simply; and he lifts his head briefly to look at me. "And I thank you for it."

"You're welcome," he murmurs sleepily, as his body slows down from its orgasmic high. "You're the only one who'll ever have it." He slides off my chest and I briefly excuse myself to dispose of the condom and use the bathroom. When I return to him, he is already asleep. In my bed, with his pillow pulled close to mine.

I slide between the covers carefully, not wanting to disturb him. He stirs a bit and a pure, sweet smile flashes over his face. I wait for him to settle; and then I lay my head beside his; for long moments I just watch his beautiful face, currently the picture of perfect satisfaction, perfect happiness and perfect rest.

I know I'm slipping under, too; but just before I lose consciousness, I lean to him, placing my lips close to his ear, and I whisper, "I love you, Edward."

-o-


	11. Chapter 11

-o-

 _Edward_

My first conscious thought of the morning is, _Where the fuck is the sunlight coming from?_ I force my bleary eyes open, and for a moment I'm disoriented, squinting around the unfamiliar bedroom; but my confusion is short-lived. I close my eyes again as the memories of last night rush back: arriving here to find Jasper waiting for me. Dancing, eating dinner, laughing, talking. Carrying him to his bed, laying him down and impaling myself on him...I shift my hips a bit in the bed, feeling the soreness that lingers as a reminder of our congress. The memory exacerbates my usual morning wood; this morning it's so hard, it's painful. I roll to my side, expecting him to be there beside me; but his side of the bed is cold, and his pillow is empty, save for a piece of paper folded in half.

I prop myself up on one elbow and unfold the note. In a neat, square-block hand, I read:

 **Good morning, beautiful -**

 **I know you don** **'** **t have anywhere to be this morning so I can** **'** **t bring myself to wake you up** **–** **you look so peaceful. Give me a call on my cell when you** **'** **re up and around.**

 **xo J xo**

He's gone to work already. I lean over and turn the alarm clock on his bedside table toward me. 10:15 am. Holy shit, I've slept half the morning away - and with the sunshine streaming in, no less. Even in my bat cave of a room, I rarely sleep past eight, unless I've been working in my home studio late into the night. I feel sheepish that I didn't hear him this morning. Worse, I can't even remember saying goodnight to him last night.

I flop back onto the bed and stretch out, my muscles stiff from hours of deep sleep. Stretching does nothing to alleviate the stiffest part of me, though; and I decide to get up and take care of things in the shower.

Jasper's bathroom is off the bedroom, and though it's smaller than mine, he has a deep claw foot tub. It occurs to me, as I stand under the steaming water, that there are baths to be had in this tub. I grasp my cock and start to stroke, and I let the images flood my mind: me leaning against the sloped back, wrapping my legs around Jasper as he reclines against me, feeling his soft ass press into me; hovering together, suspended in the hot soapy water. Very soon, my orgasm lights my body on fire, and I moan, my spurting cum mingling with the hot water from the shower. My objective achieved, I quickly finish showering. Opening the shower curtain, I see a folded towel sitting on the vanity; obviously placed there for me by Jasper. After I dry off, I stare into the mirror at my wild hair, run my fingers through it a bit, and sigh. These locks are hopelessly obstinate; perhaps someday I'll get around to asking a stylist for some pointers on beating them into submission.

Back in Jasper's room, my clothes from yesterday are folded on a chair in the corner. He must have retrieved them from the floor this morning, and I feel a bit guilty that he has tidied up after me. Beside my own clothes is a pair of unfamiliar boxer briefs and clean socks, and a new toothbrush still in the package – apparently left for me by him. Knowing he was thinking of me and anticipated my needs – the towel in the bathroom, clean socks and underwear, the toothbrush – makes me feel desired and valued. No one has taken care of me in a very long time.

I get dressed, and go in search of my cell phone so I can call him to say good morning. My coat is in the front hall closet and I retrieve the phone from the pocket. I dial, then wander to the living room window as I listen to the ring, waiting for him to pick up.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," his soft, lilting voice greets me warmly. I can hear his smile in his voice, and I have no choice but to smile as well.

"Good morning, Jasper," I reply.

"Thought maybe you lost my number," he teases. "Or do you always sleep this late?"

"No, never," I answer, feeling a bit sheepish.

"Aw, too bad," he sighs. "The thought of long mornings in bed with you was kinda nice."

"Oh, well; in that case I'll start sleeping in tomorrow. In fact, I'll go back to bed right now – all you need to do is leave work and...you know," I trail off suggestively.

Jasper is laughing out loud and manages to gasp, "Hang on - I need to close my office door."

"Close it behind you as you leave, I hope?" I continue to tease.

He doesn't reply; instead, I hear the sound of the door clicking shut. "There – jeez, you're gonna get me in trouble," he chides light-heartedly.

"Well, I don't want that to happen in your first week, I suppose," I concede. "I just wanted to thank you for leaving a clean towel out for me, and the toothbrush and the, uh...other stuff."

"Underwear?" he says. "You can say, 'I want to make you sit on my nine-inch cock,' but you can't say 'underwear'?"

"Okay," I attempt to change the subject, "so I'm gonna go now..."

He chuckles. "Okay, okay; but before you go?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have any plans for this weekend?" he asks.

"Oh, I have big plans for the weekend," I reply.

"Oh," he sounds disappointed.

"Yeah. I plan to lock myself away with a tall, sexy blonde, and do the _filthiest_ things to him," I murmur provocatively.

"Mmm, he's a lucky boy, whoever he is," he whispers, his voice suddenly thick with desire.

"Yeah. He's hot, too. He's got the most beautiful mouth, and when he takes me all the way down his throat-"

"Stop – you have to stop," he pleads, groaning; and I realize he's right – this is singularly inappropriate when he's supposed to be working. Thank goodness he's on his cell phone.

"I'm sorry; I took that too far," I apologize.

"No, it's okay; but if I want to have a chance of getting any work done the rest of the day, I have to stop thinking about it," he sighs, frustration evident in his voice.

"Of course," I reply.

"So, help yourself to whatever. Feel free to just dig around in the kitchen till you find what you need," he offers.

"Thanks." There is a brief pause as I consider how to ask him if I can hang out at his place today and wait for him to come home from work; and at the same time I'm not even sure if I should. On one hand I would love to be there waiting for him; but on the other, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to go home and get some of my own stuff before we settle in for the weekend.

I'm weighing my options when he says tentatively, "Um...I left a key for you on the kitchen counter. For today. You know, I didn't know if you might want to go out today, or even if you planned to stay; but now...we have plans for the weekend...yes?"

I grin at his cautious approach, as though he's afraid I'll spook because he left me a key. "Yes, I believe we do," I confirm. "Thanks for the key."

"Okay." He sounds relieved. "Well – I really must get back to work. We'll do something for dinner tonight?"

"My turn to look after dinner," I offer.

"Can't wait," he whispers. "Bye, beautiful."

"Bye," I reply, and disconnect the call. I'm still standing in front of the window, gazing out over the Fremont district of Seattle. His living room window faces west, toward the mouth of the canal, and beyond that, Puget Sound. Elliot Bay lies not all that far south of here. I consider taking him to Belltown, to one of the restaurants overlooking the Bay for dinner tonight; but decide we've got lots of time for restaurants on other evenings, other weekends. I was sincere in my threat to lock us away for the entire weekend. I don't have any work that needs my attention before Tuesday, and I would like nothing more than to spend long, uninterrupted hours with him. Alone.

I decide to dig through his cupboards and fridge, but not in search of breakfast – I'm taking stock of what he has in the way of staples to supplement what I plan to make for dinner; as well as getting a sense of whether he has enough food to get us through the weekend without having to leave for supplies. He's reasonably well-stocked, considering he's only been living here about a week. I pull on my coat, grab the key from the counter and add it to my own keychain; and head out to grab some breakfast and do a bit of grocery shopping.

Several hours later, I'm back at his apartment. The fridge is stocked with food for several days, including the steaks and asparagus for tonight's dinner. I also have an overnight bag, as I stopped by my place and picked up a few things – including my laptop. I need to be able to check my email at least once or twice over the weekend. I still have several hours to kill before Jasper will be home from work, and it's nowhere near time to start dinner yet. I decide to check out his bookcase, compare our tastes.

He has a pretty extensive library, and it occurs to me that he must have worked like a Trojan to unpack all of this so quickly. I scan the titles, dragging one fingertip across the spines of the books. He has a mix of classics, 20th-century literature and recent bestsellers. I pull out a novel that's a few years old; I've been meaning to read it but haven't gotten around to it. I start to turn away from the bookcase, intending to settle into a chair with the book; but a grouping of photographs on one shelf catches my eye, and I step closer to have a look.

They are obviously family photographs – some candids, others posed. In one, an older couple, obviously Jasper's parents, embrace each other and beam at the camera. The woman's smile and dimples, and her soft blonde curls, are the originals from which Jasper has clearly been fashioned; his limpid green eyes are all his father.

Another photo is a young family – the woman I vaguely recognize as Jasper's older sister, who would have been in twelfth grade when I was in ninth. She and her husband each hold a little boy with their mom's curly blonde hair and their dad's smiling dark brown eyes. The photo has caught them all in a moment of mirth – laughter forever suspended in 1/60 of a second.

The same two little boys are in the next photo, this time both sitting on Jasper's lap as he sits on a hardwood floor, his back leaning against the front of a couch. He is reading to them. The older of the boys looks at the book; while the younger one leans his head back against Jasper's chest, gazing up at his uncle's face with almost reverential eyes.

The final picture contains each of the seven individuals from the previous photos. The photograph is obviously taken during a significant family event of some sort, as behind the grouping sits a table with the remnants of a celebratory meal - plates, champagne glasses and candles. Jasper's parents stand in the middle of the grouping, flanked by their children. Their son-in-law stands beside his wife, holding the older boy. Jasper holds the youngest, little more than a baby in this photo, who is reaching out one small hand to pat Jasper's cheek. Jasper's arm is around his dad's shoulder. In fact, everyone in the photograph holds a physical connection with those around them, in some way – a hand grasping a hand; an arm around a shoulder or linked through another arm. Everyone looks completely at ease and wonderfully happy. It's a perfect photo of family harmony.

And for one very brief moment, I have the strongest urge to fire that fucking photo out the window.

Instead, I allow the book to drop to the floor where I stand. I snatch the photo from the shelf, and then I turn on my heel away from the bookcase and stalk to the large armchair on the other side of the room, hurling myself into it. I grip the photo tightly with both hands, and will myself to calm the fuck down. _Get a grip. Just don't think about them._ But the insight into Jasper's family life has evoked a flood of memories of my own, and I can't fight the deluge.

 _My parents. Carlisle and Esme Cullen. The good doctor and his lovely wife; and their two beautiful children, Edward and Alice._

 _We did everything together – travelled, ate dinner as a family, even had fucking family game night once a week. My younger sister and I had everything we needed, and more; but our parents also were careful to remind us that there were many people less fortunate than we were, and they were judicious when it came to the value and number of gifts they gave. We seemed like the perfect family to everyone who knew us; and for a long time, we were._

 _Until their eldest child shattered that charmed family._

 _I was such a fucking moron. I had decided to come out to everyone at school, but I hadn't told my parents. My sister was still in grade school; and being the obtuse, self-absorbed teenager I was, I thought I could lead a double life without my parents being any the wiser. As arrogant as I was to my schoolmates, I didn't have the balls to be open with my parents. The subject of homosexuality had, somehow, never come up during family discussions, and I was convinced it would disappoint them. My first few sexual experiences reinforced my fear that my sexuality would be shameful to them._

 _Of course, it only took one minor dust-up with one of my former friends, who made the mistake of calling me "fag". The ensuing fight resulted in a call home; and when my mother was informed what had precipitated the altercation, she told the principal he must be confusing me with another student. I was sitting in the principal's office as he spoke to her, and I could hear my sweet, soft-spoken mother becoming more and more agitated, her voice escalating till she was nearly at hysteria pitch. I wanted to die as I realized the heartbreak this would cause her and my father – not only to find out their son was gay, but to get the news by means of a phone call from the principal._

 _My father had to leave the hospital in the middle of his workday that day, to come get me from school - my mother was by this time so anguished that she wouldn't have been safe on the road – and his face was inscrutable as he sat with me in the principal's office. Somehow it was every bit as excruciating as hearing my mother's heart break over the phone. The principal himself was distressed at having to relate the circumstances again to my father, knowing now that my parents had been entirely in the dark about my life._

 _My father said nothing to me while we were in the principal's office. He listened silently, then stood, shook Mr. Brown's hand and thanked him for his concern, and grasped my shoulder, indicating that I was to come with him. He remained silent as we walked to the car; and the silence continued for long moments after he had headed the car for home. Abruptly, however, he pulled the car to the shoulder on a quiet road; and once we were safely stopped, he leaned his forehead against his hands on the steering wheel. And my father – the world-class surgeon, the man who was the foundation of our family and the voice of comfort and consolation to so many patients – well, he sobbed. He fucking sobbed against that steering wheel for ten minutes._

 _And I cried too – because this was the realization of my worst fears with regard to my parents. My mother was hysterical at home, and my father wept quietly beside me. And I was the failure, the disappointment who caused it all._

" _I'm sorry, Dad," I finally whispered. Apologizing for being gay, for disappointing him, for blind-siding him with the devastating news. My father didn't look at me – he simply held up one palm to me, indicating that I shouldn't speak. And then he wiped away his tears, and we pulled back onto the road and continued home._

 _When we got home, my father rushed into the house to find my mother. I remained for several moments in the car, dreading facing her. Finally I realized I couldn't take up permanent residence there on the front seat of my father's car, and would have to confront the ugly scene eventually. I dragged my ass out of the car and into the house. Inside, it wasn't difficult to locate my parents in the living room – I just had to follow the sound of my mother's agonized cries and my father's attempts to console her while he, too, was grieving. Mechanically, numbly, I made myself sit in a chair facing them, waiting for the force of their fury to be unleashed upon me._

 _When it finally came, though, it wasn't fury I saw in my parents' eyes. It was sorrow. They were absolutely heartbroken. They didn't even know what I had subjected my body to, the experiences that were akin to rape, by men even older than my parents were at the time. But they knew their son was gay, and I had broken their hearts._

 _My father finally spoke, his usually-smooth voice hoarse with stress and sorrow. "Edward, I believe your mother and I have always tried to be fair and reasonable with you and your sister. We have placed our trust in you as you got older, and never felt as though it was misplaced. I thought we...," here his voice cracked, "I thought we had done an excellent job in raising a young man who understood the importance of having a strong character. But today, Edward, we discovered that, somewhere along the line, we failed, and didn't realize our mistake. Because you kept this important part of your life secret from us; and even if you didn't intend for it to happen, we've been publicly betrayed by you. My god, Edward, you made fools of your mother and I; and we learned the truth about your life from your principal!"_

 _He broke down again, and again I joined him. I felt the full weight of his words; it was just like my father to blame himself, to take this on as a failing on his part. I knew the truth, however – the deficiency was mine. I was an abject failure as a son. The guilt of this realization buffeted my already-bruised soul._

 _When he regained his composure, he continued, "You said in the car that you're sorry, Edward. But you have, it seems, been lying to us about a fundamental part of your life, for how long now? Months? I have no idea, because we've been kept in the dark. So I don't know whether you're truly sorry, or even what you purport to be sorry for. But I do know this – your mother and I need to take some time to process this until we can discuss it calmly. And then the three of us are going to sit down and have a serious conversation. Several, in fact." I could only nod in response; and he instructed me to go to my room until I was called for dinner._

 _In my room, I buried my face in my pillow and cried. My parents were horrified and disappointed by me. Worse, there was nothing I could do to change myself - I would always be gay. I felt as though all was lost now, with regard to my relationship with my parents. I never again wanted to feel the crushing weight of their disappointment._

 _So from that day, I set to work to revise their expectations of me. I rebelled in almost every way I could. I altered my appearance – dyeing my hair, wearing club clothes almost twenty-four hours a day, being sent home from school again and again when I refused to conform to the dress code. I started sneaking out at night to go to clubs, despite the fact that my parents' vigilance meant that I got caught at least half the time, usually before I got as far away as the driveway. I refused to eat dinner with them any longer. Family vacations and pretty much any interaction with them, aside from what was absolutely necessary, were a thing of the past. I did poppers and E, though fortunately never progressing beyond those into heavier drug use. I drank. I got things pierced. In short, I did everything I could to set the bar as low as I possibly could, in hopes of never again hearing my parents tell me how I had disappointed them._

 _The plan was, of course, a miserable failure; because my parents still remembered well the boy I had been before. Our lives became one long conflict – my parents struggled to maintain boundaries, imploring me to take more care with my safety. I disregarded them entirely, and eventually hardened myself to their pleas._

 _For myself, I made only two rules: first, I never, ever fucked without a condom – not even one time. Second, I kept my grades pristine, because I knew it was the only way I could hope to get to San Francisco Art Institute – my dream college. And that was my ticket out. Away from my parents' constant vigilance - and the heartbreak in their eyes._

 _I went to SFAI as I'd hoped, and earned a bachelor's degree in Fine Arts, developing my craft in the photography department created by Ansel Adams. Throughout college, I worked away from home every summer. I didn't go home for holidays if I could avoid it at all; and if I went home, I spent as much time in my room or out of the house as possible. If I could have, I'd have paid my fucking tuition myself so my parents wouldn't even have to receive the letters with my grades in the mail._

 _After graduation, I landed a job as a photographer in Chicago, at an advertising agency where I'd interned one summer. I stayed there for two years, learning as much as possible; and then returned to Seattle to freelance. I now work in both feature and advertising photography, taking the jobs I want, travelling where I wish. When I'm not travelling or working, I go to the clubs. A solitary life - by my choice._

I sit sideways in the armchair, my legs hanging over one arm, my head leaning against the back of the chair. The photo of Jasper's family rests on my lap. How different my relationship with my parents is from Jasper's. In point of fact, I have no relationship with them. I haven't seen them, or Alice, for four years, since I finished school and moved to Chicago. The last time I spoke to them was over a year ago. We have no mutual acquaintances – my grandparents are no longer living and my parents are both only children.

After only ten years, my plan has finally been a success – they're not a part of my life. Except...my mother still calls me on my birthday and Christmas, and several other holidays throughout the year, to tell me she loves me and that she wishes I would call them or visit. The past several years I have let her calls go to my voicemail. Despite the ensuing years and the practice I've had at attempting to deaden my emotions, I'm still a fucking coward when it comes to my parents – I'm afraid to see the disappointment in their eyes, hear the disapproval in their voices.

The only time I allow my emotions to surface, is when I'm doing a shoot, or editing my work; and only because I find it an absolute necessity in order to capture the mood I'm striving to create - which is why photographing the babies in San Francisco moved me to tears. Otherwise, I avoid emotion entirely; and I think about my parents as little as possible.

Correction: I _avoided_ emotion entirely. I _thought_ about my parents as little as possible.

I sigh and drag my fingers through my always-messy hair. Jasper's gentle persistence had me beat the first night; and his quiet subversion is still at work, even when he's not here. _You are a dangerous, subversive boy, Jazz._ How little did I realize, when I said those words, just how true they would prove to be for me. The command I had over my emotions, is no longer as strong as it once was. Since Jasper, they seem to be constantly simmering just beneath the surface. Briefly I wonder how many other areas of my life I will come to view as a "pre-Jasper" phase. And from the back of my mind, a small voice suggests that, with him in my life, maybe I can even face my parents.

Enough. That's enough, now. Such a short time ago, I was feeling so great, looking forward to us holing up together for the weekend and just enjoying each other. Time to get my shit together. I want this weekend with him to be just like last night: nothing but talking and eating and sex. Mmm, lots of sex. In that claw foot tub. And I think it might be time for the expression "our bed" to make another appearance; if I may be so bold as to claim his bed as "ours".

I grin broadly. Something tells me _that_ won't be a hard sell.

-o-


	12. Chapter 12

-o-

 _Edward_

I toss the asparagus with some olive oil and salt and pepper, getting it ready to go under the broiler as soon as the roasted potatoes come out of the oven. The steaks have been sitting out for about an hour, coming up to room temperature; and I've given them a nice coating of butter – there's truly nothing better to put on a steak just before it hits the grill pan, than butter and salt. Tonight I want to show Jasper that he's not the only one who knows his way around a kitchen – and show him my appreciation for everything we've been through in the past week.

I hear the key turn in the lock just as I'm taking the potatoes out of the oven and turning it up to broil. I close the oven door and turn to step out into the front hall; and we almost crash into each other in the kitchen door, as each rushes towards the other. He catches me around the waist and actually lifts me off the floor, swinging me around in a half-turn.

"Hello, beautiful!" he grins broadly. His delight is evident, and I share it gratefully.

"Hello, yourself!" I hug him back, holding tightly until my feet reconnect with the floor. Not releasing his grasp on my waist, he backs me up to the wall and dips his head slightly to kiss me deeply and passionately. My hands bury themselves in his thick blonde waves, caressing and stroking down to the back of his neck. Our tongues probe each other's mouths and his hips press into me, our hardening cocks grinding together. I let my hands drop to his waist, grab his belt and quickly turn us around so that he is the one backed into the wall, and I'm pressing eagerly against the length of his body. For a brief moment I wonder how much of a fire risk it really is if I leave the broiler on full blast, while we throw down right here in the hallway.

Eventually, though, I reluctantly pull away, leaving us both panting, supporting ourselves against the walls as we gaze at each other from opposite sides of the hallway. "Wow," he gasps, " _tha_ t was a hello." I can only grin and nod. "So, why did we stop…?" He quirks an eyebrow at me, and starts to step towards me again.

"Because the oven is on and dinner will be ready shortly," I place my palms against his chest, stopping him before he can attack me again.

"It smells amazing," he compliments.

"Yep – steak, asparagus…roasted potatoes for you…"

"You didn't have to make potatoes just for me," he protests. "I would have been fine without them."

"Too late!" I dismiss his protests good-naturedly, as I return to the kitchen. "I enjoyed doing it – besides, you've never had roasted potatoes like these."

"That sounds like a challenge," he grins, following me. "I have to warn you – I'm a tough critic when it comes to food."

"Well, bring it on," I return. "I can take it."

"Mmmm," he murmurs, standing behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder. "I love how you _take it_."

"Aw, jeez," I groan. "And here I thought I was the one-track minded perv. But listen, enough of that for now – I've gotta get the asparagus in, and start the steaks."

"Where did this pan come from?" he asks, gesturing toward the cast-iron grill pan that's heating up on the stove.

"Don't touch!" I grab his hand back before he can take hold of the handle, which is already extremely hot. "I brought it from my place."

"You went home?" he asks, snagging a roasted potato from the pan.

"Yeah, as much as I enjoy wearing someone else's _underwear_ ," See? I can say it, "I thought maybe I should get a few of my own things."

"Right, and heaven forbid you go anywhere without a grill pan," he smirks.

"If you don't have a grill, a grill pan is the next best thing. You don't have one," I say as I put the asparagus into the oven. "I looked."

"Am I to understand that you were sticking your face in my drawers?" he murmurs in my ear.

"You told me to dig around till I found what I needed," I remind him, ignoring the double entendre as I put the steaks into the hot pan.

He sighs gently, realizing I'm not going to take the bait, and he reaches up to turn on the exhaust fan. "Okay, what can I do to help?" he asks.

"You can set the table," I suggest, leaning in to give him a quick peck on the lips, followed by my broadest smile.

He returns the smile; then turns to grab the plates, flatware and a couple of wine glasses, and heads to the dining room.

"Red wine?" he calls.

"Please."

A short time later, we're seated at the table, resuming our places from last night. Two large pillar candles flank the purple and white flowers. Dinner smells mouth-wateringly good, and just as I'm about to tuck in to my plate, Jasper lays a hand gently on my arm. I look up and he is smiling at me, his glass of wine poised in mid-air. I lift mine to meet his, and he begins to speak.

"Edward, when I moved to Seattle, I had a little fantasy that I might find you and maybe spend a night with you. That it could go from that fantasy, to this…" he gestures broadly with one graceful hand, "is more than I ever allowed myself to hope for. I can't tell you how happy I am to be here with you, and I'm looking forward to spending more time with you, learning all there is to know about you. I hope you want that too." He moves his glass to clink it against mine, and finishes simply, "Here's to us."

"Here's to us," I repeat. I take a sip of my wine, and then I lift slightly from my chair to place my hand on the back of his head and softly kiss his lips. Pulling back a bit, I whisper, "I want that too," and he smiles that dazzlingly wide smile. Seated again, I gesture at the food before us and say, "Shall we?"

-o-

After dinner – during which he concedes that the roasted potatoes are the best he's ever had – we retire to the couch for dessert. In the gas fireplace, the soft flames are gently licking upwards. I am sitting sideways on the couch, my legs stretching along the length of the seats. Jasper is seated between my legs, his back leaning against my chest. His head is leaning back against my shoulder, and I'm feeding him bits of the cheesecake he bought yesterday.

"Mmm," he purrs. "It's sweet." He licks the tip of one of my fingers; as I attempt to pull it back, he grabs it with his hand and sucks my entire finger into his mouth. After his tongue sweeps around my finger a few times, he lets go and moans, "Even sweeter." He turns his face toward mine and kisses me deeply, our tongues mingling together with the rich cheesecake. He pulls away and gasps, "And that's the sweetest."

He pushes his hip back into my groin, grinding it into my hardening cock. I groan loudly, abandoning the cheesecake plate on the coffee table. I grab his hips with my hands, and press into him, seeking greater friction against his delightful, muscular ass. He leans his head against my shoulder, reaching back to pull my head down towards his neck. Hungrily I suck and nibble his graceful neck; he groans and bucks backward into me. He turns over to face me, lying against the length of my body. And then, we make out.

We make out, just kissing and stroking and necking, fucking forever. Our hands move constantly – through hair, grazing faces, stroking arms, squeezing asses. When we finally pull away, Jasper's lips look red and swollen, and mine feel much the same. Still, I lick them seductively, tasting his sweetness on them, as he rises from the couch.

"Sit right there," he whispers, and disappears into his bedroom. He returns with a couple of blankets, two pillows, a box of condoms and a bottle of lube. He spreads one of the blankets on the floor before the fireplace and places the pillows at one end. The other blanket he places to one side. Then he holds his hand out to me.

"Come to me, beautiful," he beckons. I take his hand and he pulls me up to stand with him, then he leads me to the middle of the blanket. Our eyes remain locked as we undress each other, shedding our t-shirts, jeans and socks, and under things. Finally we are bare, the physical evidence of our desire fully manifest. He kneels on the blanket and indicates to me to do the same. Our hard, naked cocks touch, sending tremors of pleasure throughout my body. The flickering firelight mimics the dance of our hands as we explore and discover, travelling over every inch of the other's raw form.

"Lay on your back," I encourage him. He lies down, stretching his long frame across the blanket. His huge cock stands straight up, tempting me, demanding that I give it the attention it deserves; and I immediately comply. Opening my mouth wide, I take the beautiful head into my mouth, running my tongue along the glans and gently sucking just the head for several moments. Then, wetting my lips, I slide it further in, gradually increasing the depth until I have taken as much as I can. I regret that I can't take all of him in my mouth, but he simply has too much length. I wrap my hand around the base of his cock to bridge the excess, and slowly begin sliding my hand and mouth up and down.

I move so slowly at first that he is squirming, his hand clutching the blanket as he writhes with the exquisite pleasure. His mouth is in a constant state of vocal expression - he moans my name softly, over and over, along with assorted oaths and expressions of adoration. I speed up the pace, and increase the pressure inside the vacuum of my mouth, even though my already-sore lips are protesting. This is for Jasper. After everything he has done for me, this little bit of sacrifice pales in comparison. His pleasure is so worth it.

His vocalizations increase in volume with my accelerated pace, and his hips thrust involuntarily, seeking greater purchase within my hand and mouth. I happily provide what he's seeking, and he reacts by groaning loudly. His hands come to my head to move in harmony as I bob up and down the length of his cock. His release is close, and I suck even harder, knowing he'll soon be over the edge. I'm torn – I want to watch his beautiful face as his orgasm rocks him, but I don't want to risk releasing the pressure on his cock.

"Uhhh, beautiful, I'm gonna come," he gasps, and I decide that there will be other times for me to watch him – like when I'm hovering over him fucking his brains out. So I keep sucking him in, as deep as I possibly can. Soon he shouts, and his hips buck hard. His hot essence coats my throat and I swallow every drop. He moans, his body twisting and writhing as he hits peak after peak of intense pleasure.

Just as he starts to come down from his peak, I quickly release my hold on him. I grab a condom and slip it on, and quickly lube my cock and his beautiful ass. I press the head at his opening, and pause, waiting for his consent before I enter him. Sensing my hesitation, he opens his eyes long enough to make eye contact, and then wraps his legs around my ass, pulling me in. His moans intensify again as I push past the tight opening and quickly plunge my full length into him. He is so hot, so tight, and a tremor runs throughout my body, tingling my spine and curling my toes. I remain fully seated, my thighs pressing against his ass cheeks, for several long moments. The muscles in his ass clench and release, again and again, begging me to draw my length out and start fucking him in earnest. I hold my position, keeping him there as long as I can.

"Beautiful, please," he pleads. I only grin wickedly in reply. He reaches up to my nipples, grabbing, twisting them between his fingers, attempting to coax me.

"What do you want?" He looks so fucking hot right now, squirming, begging for me. "Tell me what you want."

"Uhh, I want you to fuck me!" he begs.

"You want it?"

"I need it, please, give it to me, oh please, I need it," he babbles, almost in a frenzy.

"Sure you do – look at your cock. I just made you come and you're fucking already hard for me again." And I love it.

"You're so fucking hot," he almost wails.

"You are," and with these words, I relent at last. I draw out almost completely, leaving only the head of my cock in his beautiful ass; and then I drive deep into him, making him cry out loudly as I finally give him what he craves. God, he's so beautiful, so beautiful; moaning and tossing his head from side to side in sheer delight, in utter abandon. I am doing this to him; I'm making him feel this way, as I push into him over and over. Minutes pass…or is it hours?...days?...and I fill him up – repaying him with all the emotion and passion he's given to me. And it's not just fucking – when both of us feel it so strongly, it can only be described as making love.

The realization that I'm making love for the first time in my life, makes me halt mid-stroke. His eyes pop open, questioning me. I lower my face to his and kiss him, deeply, passionately, pouring everything I'm feeling into him. His hands slide through my hair, stroking and gently tugging as he returns the kiss with equal fervor.

I whisper, "Are you close?" He nods against my face, panting with desire. "Then come with me," I urge, driving deep into him again. His cock is captured between our bodies, rubbing and pressing as we hold each other as close as two humans possibly can. Almost in unison, our orgasms take us and we ride our release together, exploding into bursts of white-hot flame and a thousand screaming voices. Again and again, we tumble through space, until at last we are reduced to two sweat-slicked, trembling bodies, clinging desperately to each other on a blanket, on the floor, in front of the fire.

I collapse on Jasper's chest, and together we gasp for breath, still clasping one another tightly. Long moments go by before I feel strong enough to push myself off of him and dispose of the condom. Returning to his side, I pull the second blanket closer in case we get chilled as the sweat cools us off. I hover over his face again, to place a long sweet kiss on his lips, and then I lay on my back, with my head resting on his stomach, my feet pointing toward the fire.

And for a long time, we just lie in silence. He strokes my hair. We watch the always-dancing, never-changing fire in the gas fireplace. Eventually he pulls the blanket over me, and over him up to his waist, but otherwise we don't move. Just enjoying being together.

In the peaceful silence, I try to work through the thought of making love. Of course I never pictured myself being that boy – I seldom even let the same boy touch me twice. But even I can't deny that it is, indeed, what happened to me tonight. And I wonder what this means about me, about Jasper; about our relationship. I can't honestly say yet that I'm in love with him…I don't even know what being in love means. Can a person make love without being in love? I've had sex with hundreds, probably thousands of boys; but when it comes to making love, I am the next best thing to a virgin.

So I can only do what any virgin does – wing it. And hope that my clumsy efforts will be understood for the good intention behind them.

As I reach this conclusion, the angel's voice drifts gently towards me. "You're awfully deep in thought, beautiful. Anything you want to share?"

I want to tell him – I will tell him – but not yet. Not tonight. So instead I ask him something else that occurred to me today, during dinner when he used his term of endearment for me, "beautiful".

"Where did you get your name from?" I ask, still gazing at the fire.

"My name…?" he repeats blankly.

"Jasper. Is it a family name?"

"Oh," he replies, sounding somewhat thrown. "Uh…yeah, it is. My dad is Jasper Harris Whitlock the Third. I would have been a Fourth, except my parents were good enough to give me a different middle name."

"Really? What is it?" I ask, curious.

"Bauer," he replies. "My mother's maiden name."

"Bauer," I repeat. "That's German, right?"

"Yeah, her parents immigrated here from Germany shortly before my mom was born. Her father died when she was little, but my grandmother was alive till a few years ago," he answers.

"How did the Jasper name get started on your dad's side?" I persist.

"Well, my dad says that my great-great-grandmother liked the name because of the Bible story of the Three Wise Men who came to visit after Jesus was born. The Church gave them the names of Gaspar, Balthasar and Melchior. Jasper is a form of Gaspar. Damn lucky for me that she didn't take a shine to Balthasar!" he chuckles. "But, you're very curious tonight – why all the questions about my name?"

"Well," I answer, rolling onto my side and sliding up beside him, to rest my head on his shoulder, "I was thinking about the name you use for me. The truth is-" I drop my eyes, feeling self-conscious, "I love it when you call me beautiful."

His head turns toward me and he plants a soft kiss on my forehead. "I can't help it – it's the first word that comes to my lips every time I look at you," he murmurs.

The grin that takes possession of my face is unstoppable - slightly idiotic, I'm sure. "I'd like to give you a name as well…but the word I think of…well, I'd feel silly…" I trail off, already feeling painfully bashful that I'm about to tell him my word.

He smiles and leans in a little closer, curious. "Really? What is it?"

"It's 'angel'," I whisper, closing my eyes in embarrassment. For a long moment I hear nothing, so I venture to open my eyes, and he is gazing at me in wide-eyed astonishment.

"You call me 'angel'?" he gapes, and I nod.

"Well…" he is almost lost for words, "I don't know what to say. No one has ever called me 'angel'."

"It's your hair – it's like a golden halo...I can't help it. That's the first word _I_ think of," I volunteer.

"Wow," he smiles sweetly. "Thank you."

"That being said," I interject, "I'm not sure…for everyday use…you know, out in public…?" God, don't make me say it.

He chuckles, understanding my drift immediately. "No, I suppose not."

I press on, "I did have an alternative in mind, though."

"Okay," he says and waits for me to continue.

I lift myself up slightly to prop my chin up on his chest. "What do you think of…Kas? I read that it can be used as a short form for Jasper. I know it's not a typical term of endearment…but it would just be yours and mine."

He raises himself now onto his elbow, displacing me from his chest, so I match his posture. "Mine and yours…and my Oma's," he smiles. "That was what she called me, from the day I was born."

"Oh," I reply, somewhat disappointed. He won't want to use the special name his grandmother gave him. "Well, it was just a thought. I can think of something else."

"No, you're misunderstanding me," he corrects. "I don't want anything else. No one else ever called me that. I haven't heard it since Oma died, and I miss it. And – you chose it for me, not even knowing it was already a special name. It's perfect – I wouldn't change it for anything."

His words make me feel weightless. _Congratulations, Edward, you've finally gotten something right._ I may be practically a virgin, but perhaps my instincts aren't as quite as horrible as I thought. Maybe there is hope for me yet.

"So," his words cut into my thoughts, "want to try it out?"

I stand and hold my hand out to him as he did to me earlier this evening. He takes hold and I pull him up to stand before me, wrapping my arms around his naked waist. "I believe it's time for bed, Kas," I whisper, looking into his twinkling green eyes.

"Mmmm, I love it," he murmurs.

"The name, or the suggestion?" I tease.

"Both!" he answers, and leans in to press his lips gently to mine. And as the sweetness of the kiss envelops us, I realize that, without any forethought or consent, my eyes have gently fluttered…closed.

-o-


	13. Chapter 13

-o-

 _Jasper_

Angel.

I never realized what a beautiful word it is. And I definitely never thought of myself as one. But this morning, I feel like I could sing it. Loudly, swinging my arms and dancing as though I were in the big number of a Broadway musical. _He calls me angel, he calls me angel! I'm in love with a man who calls me angel! He cooked me dinner and he calls me angel!_ Watch out, Stephen Sondheim. And tell Twyla Tharp I'll have to call her back.

I turn and stretch in bed after my musical number plays out in my head, rolling onto my side and propping my head in my hand to peer at the tousled head beside me. My face feels as though it's fixed in a permanent grin. This boy…oh, this boy. He makes my body tremble like a leaf, all the way to my toes. I've had a good deal of sex in my life; but I have never met anyone who makes me feel like he does. Even in the several years I was with Jacob, the sex never once compared to what this week with Edward has been.

I should be feeling mellow after having been so well-fucked last night; but instead I feel like my body wants to go a mile a minute. I slide out of bed and silently throw on what I normally wear to run, and then I head to my den to hit the treadmill.

Several miles and a damn good sweat later, I turn off the treadmill, the majority of my nervous energy burned off. Time to head to the shower. I tiptoe back into my room but stop short when I realize the bed is empty. Looking around, the bathroom light is on.

"Edward?" I ask, not wanting to invade his privacy if he's indisposed.

"Good morning," he replies, appearing in the bathroom door, wearing nothing but a smile.

"Hey, beautiful!" I greet him, crossing the room to give him a kiss. "I didn't think you were awake yet."

After he returns the kiss, he replies, "I woke up a few minutes ago. I knew you'd be all hot and sweaty after your run, so I thought…" Here he trails off and takes my hand, leading me into the bathroom.

My huge old clawfoot tub is filled with a steaming bubble bath. "Wow," I grin, "that was very thoughtful of you."

"Well, I may have had an ulterior motive," he winks as he grabs the hem of my shirt. I lift my arms so he can pull it off over my head. "I couldn't help noticing yesterday, how well-suited this tub is for sharing."

I shed my pants and socks quickly, and pull him to me. I wonder whether he'll be at all turned off by my sweaty body, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"And you call me devious!" I chuckle, shaking my head at him.

"No, I call you subversive," he corrects, stepping into the hot, bubbly water. "This is clearly not the same thing."

"Point taken," I concede, taking the hand he has extended to me. I step into the tub and he sits at one end, indicating that I should sit in front of him. I do, and my back rests against his smooth chest. "Wow, I can't remember the last time I had a bubble bath. And I definitely don't remember packing – or unpacking – any bubble stuff when I moved."

"Yeah, I picked it up yesterday," Edward admits, soaking a washcloth in the water and wringing it out over my shoulders.

"Mmm, I never would have pegged you for a bubble bath kind of guy," I sigh as the delightfully hot water streams down my chest and back, and my head leans back on his shoulder. "Here I thought you were all about the shower."

"Man cannot live on showers alone," he murmurs, his lips brushing gently against my earlobe. He soaks the washcloth again and squeezes it across my pecs; then drags the rough terry cloth over my nipples. They harden delightfully, in spite of the hot water, and I stretch my torso, arching my back into the sensation. Edward immerses the cloth, gently swishing it back and forth across my stomach, moving lower and lower with each pass. Finally he reaches my cock, which is standing at full attention, teased by the water gently wafting around it. He abandons the cloth and swipes one finger up the underside of my cock, from the base to the tip; then grasps the head between his thumb and middle finger, slowly rubbing just the frenulum, again and again until I feel like I'm about to lose my mind.

"Edward," I moan. "It's not nice to tease."

"How about this then?" he growls, and grasps my shaft in firmly one hand, his other hand circling the base of my sac and pulling gently away from my body. I cry out at the suddenness of the sensation. His hand moves slowly but firmly up and down the length of my cock, stroking me into a frenzy as he tugs on my balls. Soon I place my hand over his on my cock and ask him to stop for a moment. I brace my arms against the sides of the tub and lift my body slightly, so that my ass is resting on his pelvis rather than between his legs. Then I begin to grind my hips back into him, trapping his cock between my ass and his stomach, and he grunts, thrusting his hips towards me. The water is deep enough that I have a bit of buoyancy, and I slide the crack of my ass up and down the length of his rock-hard cock. Over and over we rub against each other, slick with the hot soapy water, our desire escalating to a near fever-pitch.

"Edward," I gasp, teetering on the edge of oblivion, "you're going to make me come."

"Then come for me, angel," he whispers hoarsely. Hearing him say it – it's a charge of gunpowder thrown onto a smoldering fire. My orgasm explodes, loud, hot and bright; and his limit is incinerated by the blaze. He cries out loudly behind me, and the warm bath water can't disguise the unmistakable feel of his hot cum painting my ass and my lower back. He grinds into me, seeking as much purchase as he can find there, to sustain his peak.

Finally, gasping for breath, our hearts pounding together through our ribs, he wraps his legs around my hips and his arms around my chest and shoulders, pulling me as tightly to him as he possibly can. He buries his face in my neck. Minutes pass as we remain there, my arms covering his and my head against his shoulder.

Finally, I pat his arm and whisper, "Hey, you awake back there?"

His voice is muffled as he speaks into my neck. "Don't want to let you go."

"I know, it's lucky the tub is so generously-sized," I reply. "It's comfortable for both of us."

"Don't want to let you go," he repeats; and then mumbles something else in a voice that's so soft I can't understand him.

"I didn't catch that, beautiful," I murmur, shifting to try to dislodge his face a bit from my neck.

He pulls away just enough so he can whisper unobstructed. "I said, I don't want to let you go…ever."

My heart. He isn't talking about letting me go physically. Oh, my god, my heart. It feels like it's going to jump right out of my chest. I unwrap his arms and his legs from me, and turn so I can kneel in front of him in the water. What this implies…it's what I've waited and wished for since I was fourteen years old. I'm going to take it as a declaration. And it's time to make a declaration of my own.

I take his face gently in my hands, lifting it to mine. His green eyes seem dark, almost distraught. "Edward…beautiful Edward…I have to tell you something. And it doesn't matter if you can't say it to me, or don't want to say it to me." I feel a sense of desperation as the bubbles of truth are finally about to break the surface. "I can't keep it to myself any longer. I...I love you." The dam breached, I'm no longer in control of what spills out now. "I'm falling in love with you. I know it's only been a week. I don't care." I punctuate each sentence with a soft kiss on his lips, kisses he gently returns. "I know you've been alone a long time. I'll wait as long as you need me to – I've already waited forever. I love you."

I'm breathing heavily, swept up in the force of my vehement confessions; and I feel tears starting to gather. I close my eyes, hoping to stem them; and Edward gathers me close to him, gently shushing me and pulling my head to his chest. I wrap my arms around his waist and try to swallow the lump that has arisen in my throat.

"Kas…you _are_ my angel…" he whispers into my hair. And it's enough. Right now, it's enough. Hell, this is Edward – I'm not only satisfied, I'm profoundly relieved and grateful. Relieved that he isn't going to bolt from my admission; and grateful for the emotion he expresses, in what ways he's able to.

We remain in the tub, clinging tightly to each other, until the water cools to lukewarm. Finally Edward whispers, "Hey, you." I lift my face to him and he places a kisses on the end of my nose. "What do you say to some breakfast?"

"Sounds great," I answer, and untangle myself from him. Grabbing the sides of the tub, I push myself up and step out onto the floor, then grab Edward's hand to pull him up as well.

As we towel off, he muses, "I was thinking of bacon and eggs this morning."

I frown a bit and reply, "Okay. We'll have to go out, though. I don't have any bacon."

He grins at me. "Sure you do. I bought some yesterday."

"Jeez - steaks, asparagus, bubble bath, bacon…did you make a list before you left the apartment yesterday?" I tease.

"Um…no?" he answers sheepishly.

"Oh my god, you did! You made a list!" I can't help snickering at him.

"It was a _mental_ list," he stresses. "It's not like I was walking through the store with my list and pen in hand."

"And your purse slung over your arm…" I gasp, before dissolving into gales of laughter.

"Yeah, laugh it up," he grimaces.

And I do, for a good few minutes. By the time we're both dressed and standing in the kitchen, I'm still snickering, and he's still sulking, his brow set in a scowl. Once I've got the coffee brewing, I walk over and stand behind him where he's putting the bacon into the pan, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my chin on his shoulder. He ignores me, his bottom lip sticking out slightly in a little pout. I place a couple of kisses on his neck, and he ignores me still. He wraps up the rest of the bacon in the package and I have to step back to let him put it in the fridge; and he washes his hands. Then he leans back against the counter, crosses his arms and stares at the floor. Still he says nothing.

Finally, I plant myself in front of him, my hands on his hips. "Edward," I say softly, getting no reaction from him. "Beautiful, why are you upset? I'm just having some fun."

His scowl deepens a bit, and finally he sighs, "If you must know, I just wanted to make sure we had everything we'd need, so we wouldn't have to go out this weekend. Because I wanted to stay here with you the whole weekend. I didn't realize that was so hilarious." His eyes are still downcast.

My heart expands a bit at his admission, and I feel a tiny bit guilty. But only a little. It's clear he's not used to being teased, and honestly, I need to feel comfortable joking and laughing around him. Sometimes that includes laughing _at_ him, and for that matter, at myself. And he is going to need to get used to that. "Aw, beautiful, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." I raise my hand to his chin, lifting his face to mine, and he finally makes eye contact with me. He tries to look defiant, but he honestly looks hurt. Last week he was made of steel; suddenly he seems so sensitive. "Edward, I appreciate the thought you put into it. I wasn't laughing at you for _doing_ it. It was just a moment of…I don't know…silliness. It was a mental image - it made me laugh. I wish you wouldn't be angry with me."

My hand glides from his chin to his cheek, and my thumb strokes his cheekbone gently a few times. I can see that his resolve is wavering, and so in a whisper I add, "I'm so glad we can stay here, just the two of us, the whole weekend. I don't want to see anyone else but you, love." The last bit of resistance falls away. He uncrosses his arms from his chest and throws them around my neck. My arms slide around his waist and I hold him tightly to me. Apologies are whispered, bolstered by soft kisses; and there we remain, wrapped around each other, until the smell of the bacon invades our cocoon.

-o-

Saturday afternoon, Edward puts on some music, something we'd likely hear at Spin or one of the other clubs in the Capitol Hill district; and we dance. Not slow and sweet like before. This is hands in the air, heads tossing with the beat, hips churning, bare feet slapping on the floor. We start with Barry Harris' irresistible "Dive in the Pool"; continue through Robert Miles' "Children", a rave classic from before either of us knew what a rave was; and by the time we get to the Illicit Club Mix of "Miss You" by Etta James, we're moving as one body, grinding out the throbbing beat together.

Edward is an amazing dancer, seeming to lose himself in the music. The only other times I've seen him so completely caught up in the moment are the times when we make love; but now I can actually concentrate on watching him. I marvel at his easy grace as he gambols about my living room. I enjoy dancing, and I do it well enough; but I'm a little intimidated by his ability.

Eventually he says to me, as his hands ride the roll of my hips, "You know, one of these nights, we'll have to return to the scene of the crime, and do this. I never did get to dance that night."

"Oh, really? Is that a complaint I hear?" I tease, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"Fuck, no!" he grins, grabbing my waist and effortlessly spinning me around the room.

-o-

Saturday night, after a dinner of tuna steaks and risotto that we make together, we watch a movie. Well, I watch the movie; every time I look at him, he's gazing thoughtfully at me. I offer several times to change the movie if he's not enjoying it. Each time, "Don't change a thing," is his only reply; and so each time I return my attention to Death at a Funeral, only to look back at him a few minutes later to find him observing me once more. I try to draw his attention back to the movie, commenting on Alan Tudyk's naked backside; but it's fruitless. He literally only has eyes for me.

When the movie ends, he slides closer to me on the couch and starts to kiss up my neck, his long fingers stroking my curls. Finally he owns up to the reason he spent the entire movie watching me. "You're so fucking hot when you laugh," he murmurs between kisses. "The way you throw your head back…your neck is so lithe. You should be a model, Kas."

"I'll be happy to model for _you_ ," I offer, starting to unbutton my shirt, and his eyes widen a bit, his tongue darting out to moisten his upper lip as he watches me. "You know, I think my room has the best light…" I jump up, grabbing his hand and pulling him quickly to the bedroom.

-o-

We actually do leave my apartment for a couple of hours on Sunday morning after breakfast, to take a walk around my new neighborhood. Edward takes me up on my offer to model for him, and brings his dSLR camera, walking several paces away from me, reminding me over and over not to look at him. "I'm afraid you're going to walk into something," I finally tell him as we stroll through Fremont Canal Park. "You aren't watching where you're going."

"Pfft," he scoffs; and he's right, of course. He seems to have a sixth sense about what surrounds him, even when he isn't looking. Just another facet of his physical grace, I suppose; and the observance that comes with being a photographer.

"Beautiful…nice…good…," he murmurs to himself almost continuously, as he captures one shot after another, though he refuses to show me any of them. "Not yet," he insists, shaking his head. "Wait till I have a chance to work on them first." I love seeing this side of him – he is completely confident in his ability, just like that first night at Spin. Of course I love his vulnerable moments as well; but here he is entirely in his element. It makes me feel strangely proud of him.

Before I know it, it's Sunday evening and I'm preparing for work the next day. I feel completely content, even as I wonder how the hell forty-eight hours have disappeared so quickly.

As Edward watches me set out my clothes for Monday morning, he says, "You know, I _could_ go home tonight. Tomorrow is," he grimaces, "back to reality. I don't want to interrupt your morning routine."

Now it's my turn to scoff. "As if you're interrupting," I roll my eyes. "If you have stuff you need to look after at your place, please go ahead; but don't you dare leave because you think I want you to."

"So that's a no, then," he grins, looking relieved and happy. "In that case, I'll go home tomorrow morning after you leave. Make sure you wake me up tomorrow though, okay? I want to see you off."

"Absolutely," I promise, and seal it with a kiss.

-o-

Monday morning, I feel so light and happy that I almost float up the stairs to my office on the fourth floor. Edward is going home to get some work done – I hope he'll include in that work, some of the photos he took of me yesterday – but we have a date to go to Spin tomorrow night. And I'm sure I'll spend a good portion of this evening on the phone with him. I pause on the third-floor landing, listening for a moment for anyone else who might be using the stairwell; and when I'm sure I'm alone, I softly sing my personal Broadway tune, throwing in jazz hands – that is, Jazz hands – for good measure. _He calls me angel, he calls me angel! I'm in love with a man who calls me angel!_

It burns off a bit of my nervous energy, but the grin on my face is going nowhere as I finally emerge from the stairwell into the fourth-floor hallway. "Good morning, Kathleen!" I almost sing as I pass her desk.

"Jasper!" Kathleen gazes at me, looking hugely amused. "Look at you – you look like you're walking on air. Wouldn't have anything to do with a certain guy you're seeing, would it?"

Playing along, I reply, "I can neither confirm nor deny that I had the best weekend of my life due that very same boy."

"Lucky you!" she grins. "Back to reality, though, loverboy. You're meeting with department heads this week, remember?"

"Of course I remember. I'm all set to meet with the head of paeds," I reply confidently.

"There's been a change in the schedule – the chief of surgery is going to be out of town on Thursday, so his appointment got switched to today," she advises, holding out a file folder to me.

Her words stop me cold. "The chief of surgery?"

From behind me, inside the door of my own office, I hear a deep, masculine voice say my name. I turn and find myself face to face with green eyes I would recognize anywhere. They gaze steadily at me from a face that would rival any movie star in his early fifties, complete with thick, wavy blonde hair. I swallow hard and say, "Yes, sir?"

"It's my pleasure to meet you, Jasper," he says, holding out a hand to shake mine. "Carlisle Cullen."

-o-


	14. Chapter 14

-o-

 _Jasper_

"Jasper Whitlock. Great to meet you, Dr. Cullen," I grasp his hand firmly and shake, doing my best to smile and keep my voice level.

"Welcome to Northwest Hospital, Jasper," he returns a genuinely pleasant smile.

"Thanks very much, sir," I reply, and he stands aside to allow me to enter my office, following me as I toss my coat and briefcase onto the sideboard, and place his file folder on my desk. "Please have a seat. I hope I haven't kept you waiting." _Even though I'm fifteen minutes early._

"Please call me Carlisle. And no, on the contrary, I'm grateful that your assistant was able to switch the appointments around so you could meet with me today. I have a surgery scheduled for 11:30 this morning. I'm booked solid for the next few days; and then out of town, as you heard."

"Would you like a cup of coffee, Carlisle?" I offer.

"I'd love one – black, please," he smiles.

"One moment, please; I'll have Kathleen look after it for us, and then we'll get started." I send Kathleen down to the cafeteria for some of the "good" coffee, and then sit at my desk and start spreading out the information.

"So - from where are you joining us?" Carlisle asks conversationally.

"San Francisco Children's. I was there for three years after I graduated college," I reply.

"Well, I guess we'll be learning the Northwest ropes at the same time. I've only been here a month myself," he replies.

"Really?" I ask.

"Yes, I've been at Swedish since my residency," he remarks. "The Chief of Surgery here was retiring, and I was offered her position. It was a difficult decision to move after having been there for so many years. But, nothing worth having is easy, I suppose."

Indeed. If he only knew.

We chat for a few minutes longer until Kathleen returns with our coffee; and then we start looking at draft budget numbers for the surgical department in the upcoming fiscal year. He has some interesting visions for raising Northwest's profile on the surgical front; many of them have more to do with PR than with finance, but the potential is there for our department to both provide support for some programs, and to benefit from them as well.

Amazingly, I find I have very little trouble concentrating on the task at hand – no small accomplishment, considering the circumstances. Though he's clearly passionate about what he does and his vision for the surgical department, he has a gentle nature; I feel very much at ease around him.

After we set a tentative agenda for our next meeting, he thanks me and rises to leave. As he shakes my hand, he says, "I hope you enjoy Seattle, Jasper. Though I suppose you won't see a great deal of difference from San Francisco, climate-wise. More rain here, of course," he chuckles.

Without thinking, I answer, "Actually, I grew up in Seattle-" and then I catch myself, and I barely suppress a groan. He's looking at me with interest so I have to supply a bit more detail. "I lived here until I was sixteen; and then my father's company transferred him to their headquarters in Austin."

"Really? What part of Seattle did you live in?" he asks curiously.

"Queen Anne." This is getting dangerous.

"My wife and I live in Magnolia – we must have been practically neighbors," he smiles. "Lovely neighborhood. Where did you go to school?"

And here we go. No way to avoid it now. "Lake Union Prep."

"Oh, yes; it's an excellent school. My son and daughter both went there."

I had to say I grew up in Seattle. I couldn't have just said, _Yes, I expect the rain will take some getting used to._ I reply, "Right, Edward Cullen. We were in the same grade."

His eyes cloud a bit at the mention of Edward, and I try to be surreptitious about watching him closely for his reaction. I wonder whether he's going to talk about Edward at all. He hesitates a moment; and then he smiles, though there's a sadness in his eyes.

"Edward is a photographer now," he says simply.

"I've seen some of his work," I offer. And there's another awkward moment of silence. I look down at my desk and painstakingly rearrange my post-it notes.

Again, he's the one to break it. "Are your family still in Texas?"

"My parents are; my sister and her family are in San Diego," I reply, still not meeting his gaze.

"Well, from the sounds of your conversation with your secretary, you've already made a friend here in Seattle."

My head whips up to meet his gaze. _You've got to be kidding me._ After the great meeting we've just had, he's going to give me some homophobic bullshit? I'm already squaring my shoulders and pulling out the Jazz Stare; but he holds up one hand to me, bidding me not to speak, and he says, "I'm sorry - I couldn't help overhearing your conversation; but no judgment here, son. I'm glad you're building a support system in Seattle."

He extends his hand. Dazedly, I shake it and reply, "Thank you…sir."

"It's Carlisle. I look forward to meeting with you again, Jasper. Have a great day," and he turns and strides out of my office, offering a parting pleasantry to Kathleen as he passes her desk.

"Have a great day…," I murmur, though there's no chance he heard me. I collapse into my chair, wondering what the hell just happened. Is this really Edward's father? The one who I assumed was so awful to Edward when he came out, that they have no relationship now?

As I stare out my office window, Kathleen approaches and stands by my desk. Finally I turn to her and she's waiting, expectantly.

"Yes, Kathleen?" I finally ask.

"'Yes Kathleen'?" she repeats. "Is that all you have to say? I want details!"

"Oh. Well, I think he'll make a good chief of surgery. He has some ideas about the…what…what are you staring at?" I trail off, realizing that she's looking at me as though I'm the world's greatest moron.

"Jasper, seriously, I'm not wildly curious about the details of your meeting with Dr. Cullen!" she rolls her eyes. "I'm sure I'll get the highlights when I transcribe your notes. I want details about the best weekend of your life!

"Oh!" I blush. This could be bad. Kathleen is adorable, of course; but she's also an incurable gossip. Not in a malicious way – but I seriously doubt her ability to keep staff-related news to herself. If she had any hint that the boy of my dreams is Dr. Cullen's son, I could expect Carlisle Cullen in my office for a very different kind of meeting, likely in under an hour. Besides – this is private. No one really knows yet, besides Edward and me. That'll change when we go to Spin, of course; but I just want to hold on to this sweet secret for a while longer. I'm allowed to be a bit selfish.

So, difficult as it is, I manage to get her to retreat, using the excuse that I need to flesh out my meeting notes while they're still fresh in my mind. She scowls a bit, then promises that we'll have lunch together one day this week and she'll drag it out of me then. _Remind me to schedule lunch meetings all week long._

I have her close her door on my way out, and then I sink back into my chair and return my focus to my conversation with Carlisle. It hasn't really answered any questions for me; instead, I find new ones arising.

 _I guess we'll be learning the Northwest ropes at the same time. I've only been here a month myself._ Only a month – it's clearly plausible that Edward has no idea his father works at Northwest. It would explain why he didn't mention it when I told him where I was working. If that's correct, however, it also confirms what I've suspected since that first morning in his apartment: Edward isn't in contact with his family.

But why isn't he? Carlisle volunteered the information that both kids went to Lake Union. He could have just said 'my daughter', ignoring Edward altogether. It would have made sense to do so if he had been the one to cut Edward out of his life. Carlisle was respectful and friendly to me, even though he clearly knew I was gay before he even laid eyes on me. _I'm glad you're building a support system in Seattle._ Those aren't the words of a homophobe.

Edward, on the other hand, has never mentioned his parents once – even in passing. And I can't ignore the implications. Is this Edward's choice? Is he truly someone who would willingly cut himself off from his family?

Instantly all the fears that flooded me that night in my apartment, come rushing back. I try to examine Edward objectively, but it's nearly impossible. Because I am anything but objective when it comes to Edward.

 _I'm already in so deep with Edward. I love him. And I'm certain that, even if he doesn't know how to say it, he loves me too. In his way._

 _In his way. Is his way enough?_

 _It is now._

 _What about in a year if he still hasn't told you he loves you? Will he ever be able to change?_

 _He's already changed a great deal._

 _Not enough to be in touch with his family._

 _I don't know what the history is – what things might have been said, by both sides. I do know how Edward changed that year in school; it was a defense mechanism, I'm sure of it. It couldn't have been solely because of we went to school with._

Jesus. I feel like my fucking head is about to explode. I have had too many questions go unanswered in the past week. I have been patient with Edward and I don't regret that – but very quickly we've progressed to a place where it's time to start discussing some of the deeper stuff. Time grow a set and broach the subject with Edward. _Hab mut, meinen Kas,_ my Oma used to say. _Have courage, my Kas._

We're not going to see each other tonight; and tomorrow night is our date at Spin. I'm looking forward to seeing him there; and if I'm being entirely honest with myself, I can't deny that I can't fucking wait for those twinks to see that Edward has a…yes, I'm going to let myself say it…boyfriend.

Maybe I should take him to dinner this Friday night. I can wait till then; it'll give me time to decide how best to approach the conversation. He doesn't have to go out of town again till Monday. Friday should give us lots of time to talk, and some recovery time if it becomes emotional. I pull out my phone to send him a text.

 _Hey, beautiful – hope you're having a great day. May I take you out to dinner on Friday night? Love Kas xoxo_

A moment later my phone vibrates.

 _Can't live without me, huh? Well, the feeling is mutual, angel. Friday sounds great. Where? – E_

 _No way, I get to surprise you,_ I text back.

 _Can't wait._ :)

Okay. I have a date; and not just with Edward - with Edward's truth. I just hope he's willing to share it with me.

-o-

Tuesday night. I'm standing on the sidewalk outside Spin, waiting for my beautiful boy to join me. I'm a few minutes earlier than our agreed-upon time; in fact, I was ready to leave the house an hour and a half before I needed to be. I'm excited to see him, watch him dance, feel his body against mine...and every fucking boy in that club is going to have their jealous eyes on me.

I fidget with my coat sleeve as I wait. I'm wearing my favorite jeans; they're low-slung, slim through the hips and boot-cut. I've decided on a pair of black suede cowboy boots tonight; and a slim, fine-knit sleeveless sweater in a particularly flattering shade of cream. I smile a bit smugly, knowing it outlines my pecs perfectly. My black wool jacket is open, despite the chilly, damp air; and I'm getting some very unsubtle looks from the boys who pass me on their way into the club. _Just you wait – I'll give you something to gawk at, very shortly._

Soon I see Edward's head bobbing towards me, his burnished locks reflecting the bright colors of the neon signs he's passing on his way down the street. Ever since we made this date, I've been wondering how he'll act around me in public. Yes, we've been "in public" a couple of times already; but never in a truly social situation. Especially this one – where everyone in the club knows him; or rather, knows his reputation.

So it is with some trepidation that I watch him draw closer. Finally he sees me as well, through the crowd of boys that swarm around the entrance to the club. He smiles – not a big smile, but one that's just for me – and gives me a wink. He starts to make his way through the crowd, then suddenly stops, scowling at something over my right shoulder. Just as I'm about to turn to see what he's looking at, I feel a hand on my elbow. I swivel to see who's touching me, and find myself looking right into a pair of bright blue eyes.

I recognize this boy; he was here the first two nights I came looking for Edward. He's my height, red-haired and definitely handsome - and definitely a top. In fact, I'd say he's nearly as popular among the twinks as Edward is. I know I heard his name at some point; I'm trying to remember it when he eliminates the necessity.

"Hello, handsome," he drawls in an accent that I clearly recognize as Texan. "I'm David. And you are?"

"Waiting for someone." I finish his sentence, calmly but pointedly, while trying to slide my elbow out of his hand.

"Well, now; is this a particular someone? Or are you just hoping someone will come along?" His voice is deep and honey-like – almost smarmy.

"Oh, Jazz is _very_ particular, David," I hear Edward say from over my shoulder, and his hand slides into mine. "He only wants the best."

David's lip curls into a sneer, instantly transforming his face from handsome to ugly. "Well, how unfortunate that he's settling for a distant second, then," he snarls, pulling away from me, and then adds, "Come see me, sugar, when you get tired of playing in the sandbox and want a real man." He spins on his heel and stalks away – as best as one can stalk through a crowd of excited 18-year-olds.

I can't help it – I burst out laughing. The whole situation is ridiculous; just a pissing contest. I've seen it so many times – guys try to prove how manly they are, by acting like little boys. Edward joins my laughter as he watches David's retreating back; then, still holding my hand, places our joined hands behind my back and pulls me close for a kiss. It's deep and long, and leaves me a little breathless when he finally pulls away.

"Hi," he says, smiling.

"Hi, yourself!" I reply with a grin.

"Sorry I kept you waiting; I didn't realize the wolves would descend." He throws a mildly disgusted glance in David's direction again.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," I roll my eyes. "Now – can we go inside? I'm freezing!"

"No law against doing up your coat," he grins at me. "Although, maybe there should be. If you did it up, I wouldn't be able to see your chest. Fuck, you look hot."

"So do you, beautiful," I smile back, and start to back up in the direction of the door, gently pulling him with me, drawing him into the club.

A few moments later, our coats are checked, and we're standing at the bar waiting for drinks. Edward looks absolutely miraculous in slim black pants and a snug, black V-neck tee. The club lights pulse and swirl across his back, highlighting his strong shoulders. The bartender slides Edward our drinks – scotch for him, a vodka tonic for me – and he picks them up and turns to me to hand me mine. Before I take a sip, he holds his glass up and waits for me to lift mine. I clink mine against his, and he leans in close to my ear and says, "Here's to us." I smile and then down my drink, as he does his.

Before the glass leaves my lips, a twink is standing at Edward's elbow. He's cute enough, I suppose; but not terribly tall, and probably weighs a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet. He has on a pair of skinny jeans, and a tiny white t-shirt that barely covers his sternum. "Edward!" he shouts, jumping up and down, then turns to call his friends over. "Edward's back!"

Edward leans in to me and says into my ear, "I think it's time to hit the dance floor." I nod and grab his hand, starting to pull him to the floor; but before I've gone far, the swarm reaches us. They all talk at once, like a group of excited kindergarten children, asking Edward where he's been, telling him they're so glad he's back. His hand is still in mine, though our arms are stretched between us as we are pushed farther apart. He grasps tighter, looking only at me; completely ignoring the shouting from around him.

Finally one of the twinks turns to me and gives me an evil scowl. "Who the fuck are you?" he demands ungraciously.

Edward's gaze finally leaves me; he turns a withering stare to the insolent brat, and in his velvet voice, he says, "He's someone important. Unlike you." With that, he pushes through the remainder of the crowd and leaves them gaping, open-mouthed, as he slides his arm around me and he pulls me in the direction of the dance floor. For the second time since I met him, I have the overwhelming urge to stick my tongue out at them. This time I manage to fight it, and instead concentrate on the beautiful, confident god who's leading me through the dancing crowds.

We reach a spot near the middle where the crowd is a bit thinner; here Edward turns to me and, placing his hands on my hips, pulls me close to him. We start to sway together, our hips moving in sync, and the pounding beat takes over. As he did in my apartment, Edward loses himself completely in the music. Every few moments, his eyes close and his head lolls back as though he's floating on a cloud of synthesized notes and drum machine beats. When his eyes are open, they are only for me; they bore into mine, conveying his smoldering desire. When his body presses into mine, I can feel his hard cock straining against his pants; and I rub against him, pushing my cock against his. His eyes close and his mouth parts slightly; I can't hear the moan I know is escaping his lips. Suddenly I wish we weren't here – I wish we were back at his apartment where I could toss him on his bed, pin him down and take that beautiful cock all the way down my throat.

But instead, we're here at the club; and when I look around me, it feels as though every eye in the place is on us. Some of the boys glare at me; some, mainly the ones who are clearly tops within our age group, look mildly amused; some are just plain astonished. And it's easy to understand why. The glares are for the newcomer who doesn't seem to know his place in the pecking order. The amusement is to see another top bite the dust, get into a relationship. And the astonishment is because, of all the people they could imagine it happening to, I'm sure Edward's is a name that never would have come up in conjecture.

But Edward seems oblivious to all the attention. So I try to follow his lead. I focus on him, and on our bodies moving in unison to the music. When he puts one hand around the back of my neck and pulls me in close to tell me, "You're so fucking hot, Kas," it's as though everything and everyone else, fade away. The music is still here, the lights pulse around us; but the speculative looks, and the faces they belong to, are gone. It's just sweaty bodies and hard cocks and soft lips against my neck and his strong hand sliding across my ass.

Finally I can't fucking stand it anymore. I lean close to his ear to say, "Please take me home and fuck me, beautiful." Abruptly he grabs my hand and pulls me in the direction of the door. As we pass the smart-mouthed twink from earlier, I catch his eye; I purse my lips in a bit of a smirk and I cock one eyebrow, nodding slightly at him. _Suck it, bitch._ I am the one he's taking home – tonight, and every fucking night.

-o-


	15. Chapter 15

-o-

_Edward_

Grasping Jasper's hand, I pull him through the crowd. I see the twinks from earlier; the one who was rude to Jasper scowls at him as we pass. I look to Jasper just in time to see him give the boy a smug look, and I squeeze his hand, managing to suppress the chuckle that threatens to bubble up. My angel is possessive, just like I was earlier this evening.

In my haste to get him home and into my bed, I'm almost to the door before I hear him hiss, "Coats!"

"Shit!" I skid to a stop and dash back to the coat check, throwing the tickets at the attendant. I tap my fingers noisily on the counter until he returns with my black leather jacket and Jasper's wool coat. I grab them both, and again grab Jasper's hand and drag him to the door.

We're halfway down the street to my car before Jasper says, "Fuck, I'm freezing! Can I have my coat?"

Jesus. I'm such a fucking horny bastard that I'm dragging him down the street in February, him with bare arms, me holding his coat hostage. Again I halt, hold his coat up for him to slip his arms into, and then throw mine on as well. He starts to close his up, but I slide my hands around his waist inside the coat, and I growl, "Don't you dare! I can see everything through that sweater, especially in this cold!"

He wraps his arms around my shoulders and laughs, pulling me close to his chest. "That's fine, beautiful; but I'm a little worried they'll freeze off before we get back to your place!"

"Then run!" I urge, and we take off again down the street to my car. I hit the remote keyless entry and we both jump in. I start the car and sit for a moment, waiting for it to warm up. Jasper leans over to me and starts to run his hand up the inside of my thigh. I groan and let my legs relax open. Then I feel his tongue and lips start to work their way up my neck. I shudder away from him and say, "You better fasten your seatbelt, angel." The tires spin on the damp pavement as I punch the gas and pop the clutch.

For a second time, I'm glad for the short drive from Spin to my apartment, because he is doing the filthiest things to me as I drive, almost driving me to distraction. I park in front of my building instead of in the parking lot, choosing the shortest route to my apartment. Rather than take the stairs this time, we step into the waiting elevator. As the doors close, I push him into the corner, attacking his mouth with mine. Our tongues probe and swirl and taste, hips pushing against each other, moans and gasps sounding out desperately in the small space.

When the door opens on my floor, we finally break our kiss, and this time he is the one to grab my hand and drag me down the hall to my front door. I manage to get the door unlocked – no easy feat with him sucking on my neck just under my ear. Finally the door falls open and we stumble inside, kissing frantically. After the door slams, we start pulling clothes off, stripping coats and shirts and pants. Down to our underwear, he again takes my hand and pulls me to the bedroom; then spins to face me and picks me up in his arms. The way he gracefully lifts and tosses me onto the bed, it's as though there is no effort whatsoever for him in it – as if I weigh next to nothing.

He guides me to lie on my back, and hovers over me, one hand on either side of my shoulders, supporting his weight with his beautifully sculpted arms and shoulders. I run my fingers over them, feeling the smoothness of his skin and the hard muscle underneath; then my fingers trail down across his pecs, and find his nipples. He gasps softly when I roll them between my fingers, his eyes closing and his head coming down to rest on my shoulder. He shifts so that his weight rests on one elbow, and his other hand slides down my chest, down my stomach to the trail of hair that disappears into my boxer briefs. One finger slides under the waistband, and makes a few passes back and forth beneath the elastic, teasing me.

He moves lower then, outside the fabric, to fondle my balls, rolling them back and forth between his fingers. I moan at his soft touch, thrusting slightly. Abruptly he pulls away, moving back onto his knees; grasping the waistband of my briefs, he tugs them free of my body with one smooth motion. My engorged cock springs up, pointing directly at the angel who has brought it to life. He smiles as he takes in the sight, and gently whispers, "Mmm, hello again." He bends to nuzzle my balls with his nose, then slides just the tip of his tongue up the underside of my shaft, pausing to gently sweep around the frenulum.

Then he moves away slightly, and his eyes are burning as he slides his tongue over his lips until they glisten. All at once, he takes my entire length down his throat, pressing his lips against the dark curls that cover my pubic bone. It's so sudden and so exquisite that I can't help crying his name. I feel his lips smile against me, and he pulls back enough that he can suck just the head, creating a seal of the most excruciatingly sweet pressure, and I cry out again. My body is in a state of hyper-sensitivity – every touch, every sensation is poignant; and I crave even more.

I reach up to my night table to grab a condom, and he smiles, taking it from me and quickly situating it. He leans across me, gets the bottle of lube and slathers it over the condom; then, propping one knee in the air, he applies it to himself, preparing for me. He takes a moment to slide his own fingers inside himself, and he looks so fucking beautiful as he moans softly, his lips parted and his eyes half-closed. I prop myself up briefly to suck on his nipples, and he twitches, his hips thrusting towards me. Then he closes the lube, placing it back in its place, and gently pushes me down once more.

He positions my hips where he wants them to be on the bed, then straddles them and positions himself directly over my cock, pressing the head at the tight gathering of flesh. He holds my gaze for an interminable moment, then firmly, smoothly, pushes himself down, impaling his body on my aching cock. The sensation is so intense that we both cry out – mine sounding like a growl, his like a wail. He relaxes his legs so that I am completely buried inside him; and I grasp his hips and flex my hips upwards, reaching as deep as I can. He wails again, bracing his hands against my chest for support. I lift his ass up a bit and he holds his weight on his knees; then, lifting my ass into the air, I slide in and out, burying myself in him over and over again.

They say the person who penetrates, possesses the other; but now I know – they're wrong. I'm residing within him - he possesses me. I live in his soul and right now, I live in his body.

I rest my ass on the bed again, pulling his hips down with me and he relaxes down onto me, keeping me deep inside him for a moment; then he returns to his previous action of riding my cock, up and down my length. I reach for the lube he left on the night table and squeeze some into my hand. I let it run from my fingers onto his turgid cock that is dancing over my belly; then slowly, teasingly, I grasp the head and slide my hand down, holding tight, over the length of his beautiful shaft. He groans, and leans back enough to support his palms on the fronts of my thighs, closing his eyes. The angle pushes me, impossibly, even deeper, and we moan together.

I move my free hand to the head of his cock and start to rub the frenulum and the glans as I keep a slow, art rhythm with my other hand. He twitches and flexes the muscles of his ass, massaging my cock while barely moving. My hand's work increases in speed, and Jasper's vocalizations with it. He is moaning, unintelligible syllables interspersed with "beautiful" and "Edward" and hoarsely-whispered oaths. I fucking love how vocal he is – it's the sexiest fucking thing to watch him let go, lose himself in the sensations and not be the least bit self-conscious.

Finally he gasps and his body tenses. I urge him, "Please give me your cum, Kas – cover me with it." He raises his arms up over his head, as though to grasp the sky. I give a hard deep thrust with my hips and he shouts his release. He spasms around me, calling out repeatedly as my body slams into his and my hand milks every drop from him. Thick ropes of his cum land on my chest, searing my skin with the heat from his body.

When his orgasm has passed, he falls to my chest, whispering, "Thank you, thank you, beautiful."

I hug him to me as he has his moment. I kiss the top of his head, and then I say, "Sit up for a sec." He does, and I raise my upper half as well, then slide back so my back is resting against the headboard. "Ride me, please," I urge him, and immediately he complies, raising himself up and then allowing his body to fall, plunging himself down around my throbbing cock. Over and over he repeats this action, looking deep into my eyes; possessing me physically and spiritually at once. His lips are constantly in motion, whispering dirty things to me as I approach my climax. He's so hot; his body just feels so good and he is so _right there_ – I can't hold out any longer. Realizing I'm on the edge, he tells me, "I love you, beautiful; come for me, please!"

And I come for him. I never look away from him, and I can almost see myself mirrored in his eyes as I moan and thrash and wail my orgasm in him. Possessed by him. Loved by him. Happy in him.

Eventually I return to earth, falling softly into the arms of my angel. He kisses me slowly and deeply, his soft tongue caressing mine. Then he pulls off of me, removing the condom from me and disposing of it. I reach into the bottom drawer of my night table and pull out two clean, white, folded towels – one for each of us to clean up with. That completed, he stands beside the bed, encouraging me to lift my hips so he can pull back the covers. I slide down into my bed, resting my head on the pillow. He slides in beside me and his head comes to rest on my shoulder, his arm stretched across my chest. For several moments we lay in silence and then he lifts his head and whispers, "Good night, beautiful. I love you."

I pull him tighter and whisper, "Good night, angel." Very soon his breathing regulates, becoming slow and steady – the deep slumber of one completely at rest. For a long time after, I lay awake, holding his sleeping form in my arms; occasionally running my fingers down his bare, smooth back, or through his soft curls.

It has started to rain heavily. As I listen to it tap on the window, my mind is filled with Jasper's declarations of his love for me. He has said it to me three times now. I'm still not ready to say it. And yet – this is Jasper. He has given me so much. Doesn't he deserve to hear it back? For a few seconds I consider it; but I discard it almost as quickly when I realize – this is _Jasper_. Jasper doesn't want an empty statement. I know him well enough to know that he values complete honesty. He has been so open with me, and I owe him nothing less in return.

So I will wait. I will have faith in Jasper that he'll wait until I mean it. I'll have faith in myself that someday I will progress past "completely fucked up" into "partially fucked up with ability to love"; and I will give it to him when I have it to give. But between now and then, I can start to tell him the things I've learned since he came into my life – the things he has taught me. About giving a gift to someone who's worth it; about the empty balloon in my chest; about closing my eyes. About how I've started thinking how much I'd love to be there waiting for him every night when he comes home from work; or if I returned from a trip to _our_ home.

Jasper stirs slightly in his sleep, and I hug him to me again, brushing my lips across his forehead. He sighs and relaxes again. He's taking me to dinner Friday night. I make up my mind – I am going to tell him what he means to me, and I'm going to start on Friday night. That decision made, my body and mind finally calm, and I drift off to sleep, holding my angel in my arms.

-o-

The morning dawns grey, dismal and dreary – outside my apartment. Inside, I'm sitting on the sun. I'm having breakfast with my Kas, laughing over the comics in the newspaper as we finish the last of our coffee.

He stretches deeply and says, "I need to go have a shower. Want to join me?"

"Mmm, very tempting," I reply, but shake my head. "You go ahead."

He raises one eyebrow skeptically. "Well, okay," he says dubiously, and turns to go to the bathroom. Once I hear the water start, I grab my keys out of my coat pocket and cross the living room to my desk, which sits outside my workroom. Unlocking the drawer, I remove a wrapped gift. I have a special present to give to my angel. Now I have to wait till he finishes his shower and gets dressed. I stand in the middle of the room, the gift behind my back. In my limited gift-giving experience, I could never have imagined the anticipation I would feel. My body is nearly trembling with the prospect of seeing his face when he opens it.

After a seemingly-endless wait, he finally comes out of my room, looking devastatingly handsome in his pinstriped suit pants, white shirt and solid black tie. His blonde hair, still damp from the shower, curls alluringly around his face. He is tying his tie as he slowly comes into the living room; finally he finishes and looks up. He sees me watching him, and observing what I'm sure must be my gaping stare, he grins broadly at me.

"I assume that means I look okay?" he teases.

"Sorry, can't answer you till I've cleaned up this puddle of drool I'm standing in," I answer. "At least, I think it's drool..." I make a show of inspecting the floor at my feet.

"Really? I know I clean up nice, but spontaneous-orgasm nice?" He grins as he crosses the room towards me. He starts to wrap his arms around my waist. I'm still holding the gift behind my back, and, feeling the box, he leans around my shoulder to look.

His eyes widen when he spies what I have behind my back; and I turn a bit, playing at hiding it from him. He does that wonderfully wicked eyebrow quirk, smirks at me and nods his head; then he says, "That's a nice package you have there."

I can't keep up the banter any longer – the anticipation is fucking killing me. "It's for you," I burst, thrusting it at him.

"Wow." He beams his megawatt smile at me as he takes the broad, flat package from my hands. "Beautifully wrapped and everything." He unties the ribbon and drapes the length across the back of my neck, then unwraps the paper. He removes the lid of the white box inside, and lifts the tissue paper that holds the first item in the box: a framed photo. The black frame and white matte hold a photo of my angel, glancing out over the Lake Washington Ship Canal, as he strolls through Fremont Canal Park. I have manipulated the photo so that almost everything in it is black and white – except Jasper. His golden hair, the dark blue denim of his jeans, the soft fawn color of his wool coat and the Burberry plaid scarf he wears – they all pop against the cityscape. He brings light and color to the dreariness that was my life.

The second item in the box is another framed photo. This one is me, taken yesterday afternoon in approximately the same spot in the Park. I made a trip down there with my tripod and my remote, flashing photos of myself sitting on one of the benches that overlook the Canal. My photo is entirely black and white, the frame and matte matching the first. The photos represent me waiting for him to stroll into my life.

Aside from a small gasp when he looked at the first photo, Jasper has been silent as he examines them. Setting aside the wrapping paper and the box, he holds one in each hand out in front of him, at arm's length, examining them one after another. He slowly walks to the end table, gradually setting them down, but still gazing intently at them. I follow him, somewhat aimlessly – waiting for a reaction from him. Standing behind him, I finally see his head fall down toward his chest for a moment; then he abruptly turns, flinging himself into my arms and burying his face in my neck.

He is obviously weeping, and even as emotionally stunted as I am, I know I've knocked this one out of the park. He raises his face to mine, his eyes brimming before each small tear spills over onto his cheek. I catch one of his tears on my finger tip, then gently kiss each of his eyes before pulling his forehead to mine. I love how freely he expresses his emotions. I've never been one who cries easily; but this trait in him doesn't emasculate him in the least. He is completely masculine – a fact to which I can easily attest.

When he is at last able to speak, he whispers, "Thank you; thank you," again and again, punctuating each expression with a soft kiss.

"You're welcome," I answer when I'm able. "It's my pleasure."

Eventually he pulls away, turning back to gaze at the photos again. I hold his hand, stroking his damp hair as he examines them. "They're so lovely," he murmurs.

"Later this week, I'll make you some copies for your desk at work," I promise, "but these are for your apartment." I have another trick up my sleeve – a manipulation of the individual photos of us, into a single collage. I've already put hours into it and I have more ahead; I plan to give it to him at dinner on Friday night.

"I only wish we had one of the two of us," he says, picking up the frames and putting them into his briefcase.

"Where's your cell phone?" I ask, hiding my smile so I won't arouse his suspicions. I cross the room to my desk to get my own cell.

"My cell phone?" he repeats.

"Yeah – I mean, it's not going to be Ansel Adams or anything – but you can carry it with you. I have one of you on mine already," I hold up the phone, showing him the message he sent me with the photos of him holding his flowers.

So we put our heads together, smiling – he with slightly red-rimmed eyes, me with sex hair and no shirt – and we each take a photo of the two of us, with our respective cell phone cameras. Comparing them, we both look as happy as any two people in a relationship can be.

At last he must say goodbye, and he kisses me deeply, passionately, before he puts on his wool coat and picks up his briefcase with its precious cargo. "I guess I won't see you until Friday now," he murmurs, stroking my cheek with his free hand.

"I could come by the office and take you to lunch tomorrow," I suggest.

Something indefinable colors his face for an instant; then disappears as he shakes his head. "This week won't work for lunch," he says.

"Okay, so we'll meet at the restaurant, then, on Friday night." I lean in to him and brush my lips gently against his.

"Seven o'clock," he confirms.

"I'll be there." _With gift and heart in hand._

"Bye, beautiful," he whispers with one last smile, and disappears out the door, closing it behind him.

After he leaves, I immediately return to my desk, where I'd hidden his gift. Lying in the still-open drawer is another framed photo of Jasper. In this one he stands, body facing the camera, eyes looking past me, gazing out over the Canal. A lock of his blonde hair plays off his cheek, partially obscuring one green eye. He stands upright, confident, as he always does; but his eyes have a dreamy, far-away expression. His lips are slightly parted as a little smile plays upon them. It's my favorite of the many photos I took of him that day.

Clutching the frame, I turn and glance about the room, wondering where I should put it. On the desk? On the bookshelf? No - neither. I know exactly where it should go. I stride quickly to my bedroom, and gently set it in its new place of honor, on my night table. It's the perfect spot. Now when my angel isn't here, I can look at him every night when I go to sleep, and every morning when I awake.

-o-

The rest of the week passes with text messages and evening phone calls and working on photos of an angel and flipping my cell phone open way too many times to look at the picture of the two of us.

At long last, Friday night arrives. I'm meeting Jasper at Anthony's Pier 66, overlooking Elliott Bay. I'm driving my car – Jasper's taking a cab and I'll drive us home afterward.

As I leave my car and trek up Alaskan Way, I am uncharacteristically nervous. I know – essentially – what I want to say to Jasper; I just hope I can manage to express what I'm feeling and what I've been thinking...without putting my foot in my mouth or stumbling through it too badly. Just outside the restaurant, I pause for a long moment and stand on the sidewalk, taking deep breaths and trying to steady my nerves.

When I'm ready, I ascend the two steps and grasp the handle of the bright yellow door. My future is behind that door, and it's time for me to face it.

-o-


	16. Chapter 16

-o-

 _Jasper_

Wednesday and Thursday I spend in a haze, a dopey half-grin adorning my face constantly. Edward's gift of the photographs touched me, so deeply. The color manipulation on the photo of me, and the absence of color on his photo – I understand the symbolism. And it makes me feel like I could fly. He hasn't said he loves me, but the gesture says so much. I spend Wednesday and Thursday evening at my place, and most of the time I spend just gazing at the photos. Well, Edward's photo, really. His delicate features, exquisite in the simplicity of black and white...if I thought I'd memorized them before, now they are seared indelibly into my brain.

Friday, though, the haze has cleared. The night I've been both dreading and anxiously awaiting, is finally here. Tonight is my dinner date with Edward. I've been so nervous the entire day that I've barely been able to eat anything. At home as I'm getting ready, my throat feels fucking parched, and I down at least three glasses of water before I leave the apartment.

I remain anxious until, seated in the restaurant, I see Edward striding confidently toward me, led to the table by a server. His beautiful smile breaks like dawn across his face, and the rays reach to where I am, warming my heart and my spirit. The server discreetly smiles and averts his eyes while Edward and I share a chaste kiss. And then my angel sits down across from me at our table overlooking Elliott Bay. He holds my hand, grinning and rolling his eyes as he relates some silly story about his day. It's such a relief to look at him, to laugh and smile with him, and just be in his presence. I have come to depend on that presence in my life so quickly.

"Kas? Hello?" he says, grinning at me as he lifts one eyebrow. "Hey - where did you go?"

"Sorry," I mutter sheepishly, coloring a bit. "I was just…reflecting, I guess."

The waiter interrupts then to deliver our drinks, and asks if we're ready to order. We haven't even opened our menus; and Edward apologizes, asking him to come back in a few minutes. The waiter smiles graciously and leaves.

As we look over the menus, Edward asks, "So – dare I ask what you were reflecting upon?"

I think for a moment or two before I answer. He is giving me an opening, a point at which I can segue into what I want to talk to him about. How best to approach it?

"Honesty," I finally answer, playing with the stem of my wine glass.

"Okay," he says slowly, hesitantly. It's clear he's not sure what to make of this answer.

"I've been thinking about honesty this week," I continue. "You know – generally speaking, I'm a pretty open person. I'm open about my sexuality, my emotions…"

Here he smiles and nods. "So I've noticed."

I'm about to continue when I realize, as poorly timed as it is, I need to visit the men's room. The copious amounts of water I had at home, combined with the relief I'm feeling now that I'm actually here with him – well, my bladder feels like it's about to burst.

"I'm so sorry, will you excuse me for a moment?" I whisper sheepishly.

"Now?" he asks, surprised.

"Sorry, I promise I'll be right back. If the server comes back, would you please order me the Mahi Mahi?"

"Uh...yeah, of course," he replies, but he still looks a bit dubious.

I apologize again and head for the men's room, passing the front door, where the maitre d' is greeting guests arriving at the restaurant. I make my visit to the men's room and wash my hands. I start back into the hallway that will lead me into the dining room, and, in my haste to return to Edward, I almost run into a tall, older gentleman as I leave the restroom. Not really looking at him, I excuse myself and attempt to step past him, when he reaches out to put a hand on my shoulder.

"Jasper!" he exclaims. I turn to look at the man, and am met with the eyes of Carlisle Cullen.

"Dr…C-Carlisle," I stutter, surprised. Shocked. Horrified.

"What a nice surprise," he smiles; the same warm, genuine smile he gave me at our meeting on Monday.

"It is a surprise," I manage to gasp.

"Are you dining with friends?" he asks.

"Erm...well…" How to answer? _I'm here with the guy I'm dating – maybe you've heard of him – he's your son._

"Oh," he grins, and all I can see in his face is the same impish smile Edward has when he's teasing. "I don't mean to intrude, son. But while you're here, my wife is with me," here he gestures to where a diminutive woman is standing several paces away, "and I was telling her about you, that you went to school at Lake Union with the kids. Esme? Please join us, darling."

And it's all happening before I can even say, _I need to get back…_ I am being introduced to a woman who has the same reddish-brown hair as the man with whom I've fallen in love. Esme Cullen is lovely, soft-spoken and pleasant. She welcomes me back to Seattle, asks how I'm settling in. And they are both so gracious and convivial; even though I'm screaming inside, I manage to summon enough Jazz to maintain my composure.

Finally, after several moments of polite conversation, I'm able to say, "I'm so sorry, but I'm here with someone…"

"Oh, of course, my dear," she smiles. "How rude of us to keep you from your companion."

"Thank you," I reply. "It was lovely to have met you, Mrs. Cullen. Carlisle," I shake his hand, "I guess I'll see you in the salt mines." And finally I turn from them to rush back to Edward; but almost immediately I'm stopped dead in my tracks. By the sight of Edward - standing not ten feet from where I've been talking to his parents, staring at the three of us.

The look on his face is unspeakable. Shock…horror...betrayal…they all play across his delicate features as he stands aghast, his eyes moving from me to his mother and then his father. For a long moment none of us speaks or moves, and though I know the restaurant is abuzz with the Friday evening dinner rush, all I can hear is the pounding of my heart, the blood rushing in my ears.

Finally, I take a step toward him, holding one hand out to him. "Edward…" I say.

My voice seems to break the spell that has fallen over him, and he closes his eyes for a moment, then shakes his head as though trying to clear it. He reopens his eyes, and they focus again on me. He holds my gaze for a long moment, and then gently nods his head. "Of course," he says softly to himself. "Of course." Then, abruptly, he turns and strides back into the restaurant.

I rush after him, entirely heedless of the Cullens standing behind me. He is at our table, but he is retrieving his coat from the back of the chair. As quickly and quietly as I can without drawing unnecessary attention, I follow him to the table. He doesn't make eye contact as he turns again and retreats back toward the front door. I grab my jacket and I'm about to dash after him when I see a box sitting beside my wineglass on the table. It's gift-wrapped, much like the other gift he gave me. I throw a couple of bills on the table to cover our drinks and the server's trouble; then I grab the gift and again bolt after him. He is already out the door. I streak past Carlisle and Esme, who are seemingly rooted to the spot where I left them, looking almost as stunned as Edward. He is halfway down the street before I manage to catch up to him.

"Edward, wait!" I beg. "Please don't make a snap judgment. Just listen to me first – let me explain."

He keeps walking. Not looking at me, not speaking to me. Not acknowledging me at all.

I can't wait for a reply. "I ran into your father tonight at the restaurant, and he introduced me to your mother," I begin. "That's all."

"That's all?" he roars, stopping short and whirling around to face me, his hands clenched tightly into fists at his side. "That's all? How the FUCK do you know my father?"

"He works at Northwest," I reply, my voice trembling.

"That's a lie," he retorts. "My father's been at Swedish since he was a resident."

"He got offered Chief of Surgery at Northwest, and he took it," I contradict him gently. "He's only been there a month."

"Well, that is a hell of a lot of information that didn't fit into 'that's all', isn't it, Jasper?" he snaps. "How long have you known this?"

"I met him on Monday," I reply.

"Monday!" he repeats, and shakes his head. "I don't believe you. You looked very comfortable with him for someone who met him once, a few days ago."

"What are you saying, Edward?" I ask cautiously, not sure I want to know the answer.

"What kind of plan are you and my parents hatching, Jasper?" he asks slowly, deliberately.

"Edward, I swear," I reply, holding out my hand to him, "I spoke to your father one other time before tonight; and I was just being introduced to your mother when you saw us. You have my word on that."

"Yeah, that means a lot, coming from you." He looks at my outstretched hand and sneers, then turns away and strides to his car, opening the doors with the remote.

I dash after him, asking, "Wait, what is that supposed to mean?" He ignores me again, getting into the car; and I follow suit. "Edward! What do you mean by that?"

"I mean honesty, Jasper," he spits at me as he starts the car. "You know – what you were so distracted by earlier tonight? I can see why you needed to give it such deep thought – it's obviously a foreign concept to you." He floors the gas and pops the clutch, pulling rashly into traffic, narrowly missing side-swiping a vehicle.

"Jesus, be careful!" I yell, distracted for the moment by his reckless driving – gripping the handle on the door, scared half to death.

The drive back to his apartment is made in grim silence. I tell myself that leaving him alone with his thoughts will give us each a chance to regroup, gather our thoughts and perhaps calm down a bit. I allow myself to carry this delusion all the way to his building, choosing to ignore his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

In his apartment, he tosses his coat on the floor and strides directly to the tall living room windows. He stands in the soft light cast by the one lamp that's on in the room; and he stares out the windows. Still he says nothing to me.

 _Softly_ , I tell myself. _Speak softly – don't go on the defensive_. "Edward," I murmur. He makes no attempt to acknowledge me. "Edward, please – let's talk about this."

For long moments, there is silence. I stand in the middle of the room, watching his shoulders rise and fall with each breath, waiting for him to be ready to talk. His hands are clasped behind his back, his long fingers laced together. What I wouldn't give for those beautiful fingers to stroke my cheek and tell me everything is going to be okay.

At long last, his back still to me, he speaks – so softly at first that I can barely understand him. "You said tonight you were thinking about honesty."

"Yes," I acknowledge softly.

He turns at my voice, and levels at me, a gaze that would stop anyone in dead in their tracks. "And what exactly were you thinking?"

"I was going to ask you about your family; well, about your relationship with your parents," I admit.

"Well, isn't that ironic," he says coldly, his steel gaze cutting into my soul. "So – you were going to ask me to share the truth about my family. Did you plan to tell me that you worked with my father? Or were you hedging your bets, in case this conversation between you and I didn't turn out well?"

"Edward, I didn't know what your relationship was with your parents," I murmur, trying to keep my voice even and calm. "You have never talked about them. I didn't want to pry – I figured you would talk about it when you wanted to. But then I found out Carlisle was on staff at Northwest-"

"Wait," he interrupts. "You've been at Northwest for two weeks. When did you find out my father worked there?"

"Why does that matter?" I stall.

"Answer the question, Jasper," he growls.

"I found out...I found out the second day, when I was reading the department heads information," I concede.

His face contorts into a deep scowl. "When I was in Vancouver? So you've had a week and a half to ask me about this, knowing that entire time that you worked with my father. The whole weekend we were together..."

"Until I met him on Monday, I thought you knew he worked there," I defend myself. "I had no idea he'd only been there a month! When I found out he was on staff, I assumed that you knew he was there and that you had just..."

"That I had just what, Jasper? Just pretended the situation didn't exist? Just left you to figure it out for yourself? Why the fuck didn't you ask me? I told you things..." Here he winces, and gasps softly. "I told you things about myself that I've never breathed a word of – to anyone. Ever." His eyes close, and he grimaces. The stabbing guilt I feel is almost more than I can bear.

"I was following your lead, Edward," I try to convince him. The fear that's rising in my chest is making it difficult for me to stay calm; my voice starts to escalate along with the dread. "I didn't want to push. You haven't said one word to me about your parents, ever, in any of the times we've been together. . You've never talked about any family at all. Jesus, look around! Not a single family photo. You're a photographer, for fuck's sake! What kind of person doesn't even have a picture of the people they love?"

His eyes pop open with my last sentence, and I can't tell if he looks livid or devastated. He stares at me for a long moment, then wheels around and strides off to his room. I follow. He is not going to walk away from this conversation.

In his room, he is standing beside his night table; but his eyes are on me. He's watching me, as though waiting for me to speak. I hold his gaze until, slowly, deliberately, he lifts his hand to the night table and grasps a photo frame – one I know I've never seen there before. Raising the photo, he brings it to the level of his chest, his arms extended towards me so I can see the subject. My heart feels like it's seizing in his chest when I realize what it is.

 _Jesus Christ._ It's a photo of me. He has a photo of _me_ on his night table. Obviously he placed it there at some point since I left on Wednesday, and meant for me to see it tonight when we returned from dinner. Whereas I've just accused him of being some kind of freakish human who has no photographs...and by extension, no loved ones.

Horrified, I meet his gaze. Coldly, wordlessly, he nods, acknowledging my realization. "You asked me to trust you, Jasper. And I did. I trusted you with so much." He laughs bitterly, humorlessly. "What a fool." With those words, he lifts the photo high over his head, and abruptly, he slams it to the floor. The glass shatters, scattering across the floor.

I jump at the violence of the action and the ear-splitting sound. In an instant, amidst the cacophony of shattering glass, my fear and dread are replaced by sheer panic. _No no no no no – what have I done?_ This whole evening has gone so horribly wrong. I had good intentions – noble intentions – for tonight. Silently – unfairly – I curse Carlisle and Esme Cullen. If they had chosen a different restaurant, or even come half an hour later, I would already have told Edward everything. This entire train-wreck would have been only the stuff of unpleasant dreams.

But it is horribly, undeniably real. I can't hold back the tears that accompany my regret and my terror at how this evening will ultimately end. Edward simply glares at me, his face unflinching. Hard, cold...the Edward I met at Spin two weeks ago is back. Every layer of protection I broke down has been rebuilt in a matter of moments. Because of me. I asked him to trust me; and I didn't trust him. He feels completely betrayed by the only person he's let himself believe in, in the last ten years.

Spurred into action by panic, I blurt out, "Edward, I'm sorry. I should have told you about your father working at Northwest – I should have said something as soon as I found out. I shouldn't have kept it from you. I was so afraid to scare you off, and I know I was wrong. I asked you to have faith in me and I didn't give you the same courtesy." He snorts, but I ignore it and continue, creeping closer to him as I do. "I don't know what happened between you and your parents, but it doesn't matter to me. If you believe they shouldn't be in your life, I'll support you in that. I made a mistake – I handled this whole situation so poorly. I tried to do the best I could but I can see I was wrong. Please...please say you'll forgive me. Please, Edward..." I am full-on sobbing now, my voice breaking. "I was going to ask you about your family tonight. That's why I asked you to dinner. I swear I was going to tell you everything."

He looks away, rolling his eyes deeply at my final admission. "Words, Jasper. They're just words. You know that words are cheap. Your actions have told me everything. Even if you and my father don't have some kind of plan concocted-"

"Edward, I promise you, it's not like that. He didn't even know we were together. He asked me where I went to school and I told him Lake Union. He told me you went there, and I said I remembered you. He said you're a photographer now. That was the extent of our conversation about you!" I'm almost close enough now to touch him.

"Well, don't expect any more warm fuzzy conversations with Carlisle now that he knows you're gay," Edward spits the word like an invective. "Having a gay son was entirely too much for him; finding out that you've been dating the gay son will end that blossoming friendship pretty fucking fast."

"He already knew..." I sob.

Edward does a double-take. "He what?" he asks incredulously, furiously.

"He knew. He heard Kathleen talking about me dating a guy, and he told me..." I pause – if Edward believes his father to be a homophobe, what I'm about to say will rend the fabric of his world – but I have to say it. I have to tell him the truth, even if belatedly. "He told me that he's glad I am building a support system here."

Edward stares at me, disbelieving. "You're lying," he murmurs, barely audible.

"I'm not," I sob.

He grabs my shoulders. "You are FUCKING LYING!" he roars. I'm crying too hard to answer him – I can only shake my head. He releases me and storms back out of the bedroom to the living room. Slowly I follow him; I stand in the doorway between the two rooms, watching as he paces around the room, his hands again clasped behind his back, muttering to himself.

"This is too close...it's too close," he murmurs. Again and again he repeats those words – _too close_. Finally he says, "No!" and skids to a halt. He eyes me standing there watching him; and says, "He knows we've been together. I have worked too hard..." he breaks off and closes his eyes, trying to collect his thoughts. When they reopen, all trace of tenderness, any affection he's held for me – they're all gone. Replaced by an infinite vacancy that tears my heart into a thousand pieces.

"This thing...it's over," he says flatly. "They know we've been together. Thanks to you, they have a lovely little window into my life."

"Edward, no..." I plead. "He didn't know we were together till they saw us tonight. I didn't tell him..."

"But they know now, Jasper," he continues, cold, detached. "And that is insupportable. You'll see him at the hospital, he'll ask you about me...you're too polite to tell him that it's none of his fucking business..." He shakes his head. "No. The window is closed. It was...fine...while it lasted. But it's done now."

My eyes close and I feel myself start to sway. I have to reach out to the door frame to steady myself. Three words repeat in my mind, over and over. _Edward...please...no. Edward...please...no._

When I reopen my eyes, he is dialing his phone. "Who are you calling?" I manage to whisper.

"A cab," he answers bluntly.

The room feels like it's spinning as I listen to him speak to the dispatcher; he provides his own address as the pickup address and mine as the destination. This isn't happening... _Edward...please...no..._ this can't be the way it ends... _Edward...please...no..._

Finally Edward clears his throat. I open my eyes, and he's holding my coat and the box I picked up from the table at the restaurant. "The taxi will be here soon. I'd rather you waited downstairs," he says ungraciously. "Here's your stuff."

"That's not mine," I whisper, indicating the box.

"Well, I don't need it anymore," he replies. "I don't want it in my apartment. Take it with you."

I shrug into my coat, and take the box from his hands. He shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at the floor. _It's ending...how can this be the end?_

One last time, I implore him. "Please don't do this..."

Finally he meets my gaze, but his eyes are cold and dead. He steps past me to open the door. " _I_ didn't do this," he says coldly. "Goodbye, Jasper."

I will not say goodbye. "I love you." _I refuse to believe I'm the only one feeling it._

The door closes behind me, and it's so final, so abrupt. I want to collapse on the floor outside his door. Somehow, though, I know I have to get home first. I stumble my way down the stairs, and the cab is waiting outside the front door.

I get in, and the cab driver asks, "Where to?" I manage to choke out my address, and he turns around to look at me. "Are you okay?" he asks, with kind concern.

"No," I answer truthfully. "Please, just take me home."

He turns again without a word, and we pull away from the curb. I attempt to keep my emotions in check during the ride, with some success. By the time we pull up in front of my apartment and I pay him, I am almost calm. Numb. Slowly, dispassionately, I walk to the elevator of my building. Riding up the elevator, I remember the parcel I'm clutching; and I begin to dissect it; untying the ribbon, carefully peeling back the tape of the wrapping. By the time I unlock the door of my apartment, the box is stripped bare.

Inside the apartment, I carefully fold the paper and place it on my dining room table, draping the ribbon over it. After staring at the box for several minutes, I finally lift off the lid. Inside, in the familiar tissue paper, is another photo frame. It's larger than the others he's given me. The photo is a collage of images – some of him, some of me – and they are manipulated to overlap and intertwine with each other. I peer at the photo for a protracted moment...

...and then, with an anguished wail, I sink to the floor, clutching the frame. I collapse into myself, relinquishing my heart to despondence. The colors that have illuminated my life for the last two weeks – they all smear and run into one hideous, nameless shade of desolate.

I am racked with relentless sobs, lying on the floor of my living room as I watch every dream...every kiss...every happiness – all gone, wrenched away from me – drifting on a sea of despair.

 _This thing...it's over._

It's all over.

-o-


	17. Chapter 17

-o-

_Jasper_

After I collapse to the floor, it becomes my home for many hours. I weep for him until I literally cry myself to sleep, right here on the floor. Even asleep, I am somehow still conscious of my loss; and when I wake up, stiff, sore and cold from the hardwood, the pain in my body is still nothing compared to my heartbreak.

I don't want to move. I don't want to speak. I just want my beautiful Edward. I'm forced to get up, though, by the discomfort of the floor; and so I manage to pull myself upright, standing on shaky legs. It's 8:30 a.m. It occurs to me that I should be starving, since I ate almost nothing yesterday; and of course, we didn't eat dinner last night. Instead the thought of food turns my stomach, and, with no time to make it to the bathroom, I stagger to the kitchen instead. With nothing in my stomach, I dry-heave over my kitchen sink, relying desperately on the counter to keep me from collapsing again.

When my stomach has settled somewhat, I'm able to make my way to my bedroom, and I collapse onto my bed. I'm still clutching the picture frame that holds the proof that all this was real – for a short time, I was Edward's and he was mine.

Except he has decided not to be mine anymore. Edward has punished my lack of candor, by cutting me out of his life. I'm broken-hearted. And I'm terrified. Afraid to face a life where I don't wake up with him every morning; share sweet kisses and impish grins and dances; make love to him; fall asleep with him.

But I'm also afraid for Edward. I know, now, the awful truth. He shut out his parents, his sister; he closed himself off from having friends; and now he has excised me from his life as well. Everyone he loves, he has pushed away. _He loves me; I know he loves me._ I know why he's angry with me – I'm furious at myself – but I had hoped, desperately, that he would realize and understand how fiercely I would protect his privacy. But he chose not to trust me. Now, he has no one.

_How can he live that way?_

_He did it for ten years before he met you._

_I was so sure he loved me. Maybe once he's had a chance to calm down, he'll call me – we can talk about it..._

At that moment my phone rings, and the suddenness makes me jump. I roll quickly to my nightstand and grab the cordless. "Hello?" I answer breathlessly. "Edward?"

"Heehee, who's Edward?" I hear my sister Rosalie's amused voice on the other end, and my heart sinks to my stomach. The disappointment grabs me by the throat, strangling a fresh round of sobs out of me. "Jasper? Jasper, what's wrong?" Rosalie's tone abruptly shifts from amused to deeply concerned. "Are you okay? Who's Edward?"

"Rosie..." I lament, unable, for the moment, to continue. When I can speak again, I go on, "Edward is someone I was seeing. We broke up last night."

"Oh," she says, "I'm sorry to hear that, sweetheart. But you've only been there a few weeks. It couldn't have been that serious in that amount of time?"

Her words make the sobs rack my body even more violently. Two weeks. Two weeks is all I had with him. I had hoped for so much more.

"Uh-oh," she says, her concern growing. "Jay, what happened? Did he hurt you?" The protective older sister in her surfaces quickly.

"No," I whisper.

"Then...I'm having trouble understanding how it's got you so upset, sweetheart, this early on. Were you already seeing him before you moved to Seattle?" She sounds confused, and a little hurt, to think that I would have kept something so important from her.

"No, but..."

"What? Please tell me, Jay," she implores.

"Rosie, it was Edward Cullen," I rasp.

"Holy shit," she murmurs under her breath. She knows who he is, that I had a crush on him – I told her, shortly after I came out. It was when she asked me who I'd had a thing for in high school, since no girls' names had ever come up, for obvious reasons. I told her there was only ever one; and her steel-trap memory retained that detail. When I told her I was going to move back to Seattle, she joked about it then. She had no idea that I actually planned to try to find Edward again.

So – she gets it. Rosie knows how hard I fall, how whole-heartedly I give myself to the ones I love. How strong my attachments are.

"Oh, Jay," she murmurs after a moment. "Tell me all about it, sweetheart."

So I do. I tell her about Spin, and about Edward's place, and breakfast at the diner. I tell her how closed-off Edward was, and how I managed to gradually chip away at his walls so that I could see the tender soul hiding inside. I tell her about Carlisle Cullen, and a bouquet of crocuses and snowdrops, and dancing with the sexiest boy I've ever known. Rosie being Rosie, she asks about the sex; and I tell her, honestly, that it's the best I've ever had. And then she asks me what went wrong. And I break down again, sobbing out the rest of the story to her. "I know he loves me, Rosie. I fucked up, and he's hurt. But I know he loves me."

"Jay," she sighs, "can I be honest with you?"

"You always are," I sniffle.

"Sweetheart, dishonesty is always a detriment to a relationship, and I know you know that. But can you understand that with most guys, you wouldn't have felt as though you had to hide the fact that that you work with his dad? And the simple fact that you do work together should have been an interesting coincidence - not a fatal flaw in your relationship."

"I don't know what happened when he came out, though, Rosie," I tell her. Maybe they were awful to him. Maybe his parents are the 'not in my family' type of people."

"If that's the case," she retorts, "then they're homophobes, and Edward was right to get away from them."

"The thing is..." I struggle for the right words. "Carlisle didn't seem angry about Edward when he mentioned him. He just seemed sad." Even mentioning the word "sad" makes my eyes prick with tears again, and I feel completely defeated. "God, maybe this was a mistake – moving here."

"Jay, I wish you were closer – everyone does, even though San Diego to San Francisco was already too far," she replies. "But don't make any quick decisions, okay? Maybe Edward will call you when he has had a chance to calm down. You say he's very sensitive despite his facade – give him a day or two to mull it over, and I'm sure he'll realize it's not the end of the world. And that you're the best thing that ever happened to him, and he'd be crazy not to call you and beg you to take him back."

Her love and her confidence in me warm me slightly, and I manage a little smile, in spite of myself. "Thanks, Rosie," I whisper.

"You bet, sweetheart," she replies. "And Jay?"

"Yes?"

"After he does, be open with him about everything. Tell him all the things you're feeling, ask him your questions, share your concerns. So he can't get blindsided again; or at least, not by you," she advises gently.

"I know," I sigh. "I know you're right."

"Duh." She says it gently, teasingly; but I can almost see her smirking on the other end of the line. Because Rosie is still Rosie, even when she's filling the role of nursemaid for the wounded soul.

"So, how are my nephews?" I ask, a little pang in my heart as I think of the sweet boys who are now that much farther away from me.

Rosie's voice quickly becomes animated as she updates me on what the boys are up to. The oldest, Brandon, is four and a half, and is the energetic, fearless one. Much like his dad, he has a big heart and an even bigger voice. He's taking kinder gymnastics; and Emmett and Rosie are no doubt sprouting several new grey hairs every time they take him to a session and witness his feats of bravery. The younger, Gabriel, is quiet, thoughtful and sensitive. He loves hard too, but he expresses it gently, through his actions; whereas Brandon expresses his at the top of his lungs. Gabriel is almost two, and he and I have had a special bond since the first time I held him, the day he was born. The way he regards me is almost akin to hero worship, and, well, it's difficult to resist that kind of guileless admiration.

All too soon, Rosie tells me that the boys are awake now and asking for breakfast; so I tell her to go look after her family. Before she lets me go, she tells me she'll call me again this evening to check in. And then we end our call the way our family always does, with _I love you._ It doesn't matter if we talk on the phone three times in the same day; we always, always end with love.

After talking with Rosie, I lay for a while longer on my bed, thinking about the things she said. It's true that the magnitude of Edward's reaction to my working with his dad is extraordinary. Edward has decided that it's a deal-breaker for him. But what if he could forgive my dishonesty? Last night, in my panic, I'd promised I would support his decision about his parents, no matter what. But could I? Could I truly stand by and be supportive if he decided never to get in touch with them again – particularly knowing Carlisle now? Would it be too difficult for him to be around my family if he didn't have his own? Would I be able to leave it alone, or would I try to convince him to talk to them? Would our relationship be doomed from the start because of his refusal to see them? And how would I continue to work with Carlisle?

So many questions - not a single answer. And the only person who can help me begin to address them isn't talking right now; at least, not to me. As much as my heart aches with that knowledge, I'm convinced that I don't have any more tears right now. My head hurts, my body aches, and I'm exhausted. I am starting to drift off when my phone rings again.

I answer more cautiously this time, with a simple, raspy, "Hello?"

"Jasper," I hear a soft voice say. And, impossibly, I burst into tears again at the sound of my mother's kind, comforting voice. Hearing her makes me feel like a little boy again, makes me feel sorry for myself. "Jasper, dear, Rosie called me."

"Mama," I whisper. Rosalie and I have called her 'Mama' since we first learned to say the word. As teenagers our friends would tease us for it – me especially – even after we explained the German influence in our affectionate name for our mom. When I still lived in Austin, I didn't get nearly as much flak about it as I have at other times; Rosie said it was because southern boys knew how to respect their mothers.

"Rosie told me what happened with this boy," she says in her gentle way. "I'm so sorry, dear. You knew him in high school, did you?"

"He was my crush, Mama," I whisper. "Kind of my first love; even though he didn't really know I was alive then."

"Oh, my darling," she murmurs compassionately. "I wish you were here, so I could give you a hug."

"I wish I was there too," I sniffle. How desperately I wish I was with my family now. In my entire life, I have never had to face anything, good or bad, without them around me for support.

"I suppose it wouldn't do for you to take time off work after you've only been there for two weeks," she muses.

"Certainly not," I agree.

"Well, then, I see no other option. I'll just have to come to you, dear," she says resolutely.

"Mama," I shake my head, "I can't ask you to drop everything to come here. I can take care of myself."

"Nonsense, dear. Mothers are supposed to drop everything when their children aren't well. I know you're not a little boy anymore, but you need your family with you when you're this upset. Besides, it's been a few years since your father and I visited Seattle. I can see your new place and fill up your freezer with your favorite foods. And I have friends in Seattle I haven't seen in ages; I can get in a visit with them," she concludes.

It sounds great, having my mom come and stay with me for a few days, like her taking care of me when I was sick as a little boy. It doesn't take much convincing to get me to acquiesce.

"Will Dad come too?" I ask.

"No, dear; he can't get away from work on such short notice. It'll just be me." And though I'm disappointed I won't see him as well, I know she's right. My father has to book his holidays months in advance as so many other people depend on his schedule.

We chat for a few minutes longer, until I feel like I can't keep my eyes open any longer. "Mama," I say, "I'm exhausted. I didn't sleep much last night. I think going to try to go back to sleep."

"Of course, dear," she agrees. "I'll send you an email with my flight information. And Dad sends his love," she adds.

"Tell him I love him," I reply, choking up a bit. "And you too, Mama."

"I love you too, darling," she murmurs. "Bye".

The phone slips from my hand onto the bed, and I sigh, tired and defeated. Two calls...neither of them Edward. I wonder what he's doing now. Is he prostrate on his bed, as I am? Does he feel as though the world upon which he stood, has shifted below his feet, leaving him off-balance, staggering to keep upright? Does he regret ending our relationship?

Does he miss me?

Yesterday morning, the answer to that question would have been an emphatic yes. I believed that he missed me when we were apart; his trip to Vancouver had convinced me of that. But now...

 _You changed your mind_.

The words of Chris Isaak's mournful song descend upon me, and I can't shut them out. If I thought my made-up song about being called an angel, was an appropriate love song for my Broadway play; then surely this song is the emotional heartbreak scene of the play you didn't realize was a tragedy.

_Over where the rainbow meets the darkened sky  
I pretended there was hope for you and I  
Now too late, I guess, the real world I find  
You changed your mind, you changed your mind_

_Over where tomorrow chases clouds away  
I pretended that somehow you'd really stay  
Now I'm left here with those dreams you tossed away  
You changed your mind, you changed your mind_

I can't stop myself from gazing again at the photo collage Edward did. Of course, it's flawless; the individual photos fused together to surround the two of us with a riot of images and colors. So many memories created in such a short, intense time. A fire that blazed up quickly, hot and intense; but couldn't sustain itself.

Are the embers still there?

The tears threaten again, but with a valiant effort I manage to fight them off before they breach the dam of my eyelids. I'm fucking exhausted. I just need to sleep. I need to escape this waking nightmare for a few hours. Just...sleep...

-o-

_Edward_

_Jesus Christ_ , I think as I wake up. _What the hell._ For one long, oblivious moment I wonder why the fuck I feel like my mouth is fur-lined and my head lost a stand-off with a speeding bus. Cautiously, groggily, I lift my head and open one eye enough to survey my room.

And then I remember. The broken glass on the floor of my room reminds me – both the glass from the smashed photo frame, and the shards of the drained Glen Livet bottle that shattered against the wall at some point in the early hours of this morning. They remind me of what happened here last night, like some pathetic, blatantly obvious metaphor for my splintered relationship. I fight the memories – I don't want to think about it – but the alcohol has weakened my control, and against my will it all floods back.

I sink back to my bed with a groan. I feel like I'm going to be sick, and not just from the alcohol that has not yet left my bloodstream entirely. Scenes of last night flash through my memory; scratchy negatives exposed to betrayal and anger. Jasper smiling at me from across the table; seeing him talking to my parents; the look of horror on his face when he realized I was watching them. The brief glimpse of hope I saw in my mother's eyes...but this I push aside immediately. Jasper's soft voice, pleading with me...then stabbing me in the heart with his words... _What kind of person doesn't have a picture of the people they love?_

Those words...they're the ones that make me jump out of my bed and run for the bathroom. I vomit the remaining contents of my stomach; then crawl directly into the shower, reaching up to turn on the spray and letting it wash over me as I sit on the tile of the shower floor. The water washes away the grogginess, washes away the nausea; and what I'm left with is anger. Vitriol. Bitterness.

Clarity.

Obviously he believes me to be as much of a freak as everyone else does. Well, maybe I am. Freak or not, though, I was just fine for ten fucking years before he came along trying to convince me that he knew me better than I knew myself. I certainly never got any complaints from any of the many guys I was with; and what's even more important, I wouldn't have fucking cared if they did complain. When did that change? The night I met Jazz with his green eyes and his blonde curls and that line of bullshit he sold me. _If it's with the right person, you can give up control without losing yourself._

I should have thrown him out the first night he spewed that shit. I should have listened to my own words to him _...dangerous...subversive_. I didn't lose myself, but I came fucking close. I was going to tell him...even under the hot shower spray, I shudder as I realize how close I came to truly putting my feelings on the line. I was minutes away. Minutes. And he fucking lied to me. I believed his talk about honesty; I trusted him when he asked me to. And what has it gotten me? A slap in the face; and painfully, laughably weak claims about how great my father thinks we queer boys are. Can I believe anything he told me? He told me he loves me. Is that a lie too?

My heart pangs for a moment with the memory of the first time he told me, when we were together in his bathtub. Following quickly in succession is a flash of the last time he said it – with tears in his eyes, telling me he loved me even as I kicked him out of my apartment last night...but with a shake of my head, I quickly push the memory down. It doesn't matter, I decide. Even if it's true...one truth in the midst of a sea of lies is not enough. Not even close. _Lesson learned, Cullen_.

My fingers and toes have turned to prunes as the water has washed over me at the bottom of the shower. It's time to pull myself up from the floor, and get on with my life.

I towel off, and then, placing my hands on the vanity, I lean closer to the mirror to study my face. My eyes are red-rimmed from the alcohol and the late night; my jaw has a slight growth of stubble. I look rough, definitely worse for wear. But nothing that a shave, a few glasses of water and a couple of ibuprofen can't cure.

I don't have to be anywhere until Monday, when I'll be going to Chicago on an assignment. I reflect, as I shave, that maybe it's time the boys at Spin were reminded who's king. They need a refresher course, I think; especially after that ludicrous display on Tuesday night.

Indeed. I do believe it's time.

-o-


	18. Chapter 18

-o-

 _Jasper_

My mother arrives in Seattle early Sunday afternoon. Despite my protests, she maintains that I don't need to pick her up at the airport, insisting that she has arranged for a car service to bring her to my apartment. She says she wants me to stay home and relax. After sleeping hard, though, for most of Saturday and all of Saturday night, rest is the last thing I need. I decide to go out in the morning and pick up some groceries; knowing she'll worry about me eating properly if she doesn't see all the right things there. Memories of last Sunday morning with Edward try to force their way into my consciousness; but with Herculean effort, I manage to suppress them, and I get through the grocery store without a tear shed.

At around 2 pm my mother rings the security intercom at the front door of the building, and I press the button to let her in. I open my door and step into the hall, waiting for the doors to slide open. I am more comforted than I could have realized, by her coming here to be with me; and I'm anxious to see her. The elevator bell chimes, the door slides open, and out steps Mama.

My mother – Anneliese Whitlock. If angels existed, certainly she would be one of them. She is reasonably tall, about 5'8", with softly-curling blonde hair; a smile that is gentle despite its broad expanse; and dimples, which I inherited from her. Rosie looks so much like her, minus the dimples; but Mama is, as my dad says, "the original and still the best." My dad must have told me a hundred times when I was growing up, that my mother's name means "grace"; and though when I was young I had no idea what grace meant, it is abundantly clear, now, how aptly named she is.

As soon as I see her standing there in the hall outside the elevator, I run to her. She drops her bags, opening her arms wide; and despite her being seven inches shorter than me, she manages to envelop me in an encompassing hug.

"Jasper," she murmurs softly as she rubs my back.

I am determined – bound and determined – not to cry, and so far today I've kept it in check. I'm tired of crying. I feel as though I never stopped yesterday; my eyes were even wet when I would wake up to use the washroom or have something to eat – it was as though I was waking up in the middle of a sob. So today, with massive effort, I have managed to fight them back.

Now, with my mother hugging me and telling me how sorry she is, it's definitely difficult to keep it under control. One tear does manage to escape, and it trickles down my cheek. I release her, saying, "Let me take your bags, Mama." I grasp them and carry them into my apartment and to the den, where she'll be staying.

Inside, she looks around, inspecting the interior of my apartment. "It's a beautiful space, Jasper; and you've done a lovely job," she says proudly. "It looks like you've been living here for months, instead of two weeks!"

"Thanks," I smile weakly as I hang up her coat in the front hall closet. "Are you hungry? I haven't had lunch yet."

"Nor I, dear," she replies. "Let's make some sandwiches, and we'll have a cup of tea and a chat."

Several moments later, the tea is brewing and our cucumber-and-cream cheese sandwiches are cut in thirds, the way Mama always cuts them. We sit at my table, catching up on what she and Dad have been up to the past few months, since the last time I visited Austin. Mama didn't work outside the home while Rosie and I were kids; and since we're both long grown up and moved out, she has thrown her time and energy into volunteer work. She has been volunteering with the Austin Resource Center for the Homeless since it opened in 2004; and her eyes sparkle as she talks about how rewarding it has been for her.

I pour our tea and for a moment we sip it in silence. Finally, she broaches the question she's clearly wanted to ask since Rosie told her about this, yesterday morning.

"Jasper, how did this happen? How did you get so involved with this boy in such a short period of time?"

I sigh deeply. It's a fair question, considering I've asked it of myself more than once in the past 24 hours. "It was just...intense, Mama."

"But you were with Jacob for three years, and lived together for two; maybe I'm wrong, dear – I don't mean to minimize what you had with Jacob – but you seem so much more upset now than when you and he broke up." She's right, of course. She is a very intuitive woman, and she knows her children well.

But she doesn't know everything. "I broke up with Jacob," I admit. "It was my decision."

"Jasper!" she exclaims, looking surprised and hurt. "Why on earth didn't you ever tell us that?"

"I don't know," I shrug. "I guess...I guess I felt like I didn't have a really good reason for breaking up with him. I mean, everything was good enough, I suppose. He loved me. He was stable, and trustworthy. Everybody loved him." Mama nods – she and Dad had liked him very much. He was kind and pleasant, and very good to me; and as long as they thought I was happy, he was aces in their book. "I was happy for the first while. But eventually I felt like I was settling for someone who just wasn't the one for me." I wince, remembering the conversation with Jacob when I ended it. He was completely blindsided, thinking everything was just fine. I sigh at the memory.

"Oh, my dear," Mama says, reaching out to take my hand. "I had no idea you felt that way. You know Dad and I just want you to be happy. We never wanted either you or Rosie to just settle for anyone. Your happiness is an excellent reason, Jasper." I just nod, and after a few more silent moments, she continues, "So, what was different about Edward? Did you think he was the one?"

"I did," I nod, staring into my cup of tea. "When we were together, Mama, I felt whole, alive. I thought that if we had a chance to work out the issues, things could be so right. He could have been...forever."

"So in hindsight, would you have done anything differently, if you could change it?" I know what she's doing. My analytical mind comes from my mother, and she's trying to help prompt me through the mental steps I need to take, to analyze it objectively.

I think about her question for a few moments. "Sometimes I think I should have been completely open with him about his dad as soon as I found out. Other times, I feel certain that if he'd known earlier, he just would have ended it that much sooner. Even if I'd told him right away and he didn't bolt, how long could we have sustained that? It would have been disingenuous not to tell Carlisle the truth."

"Carlisle is his father?" Mama clarifies, and I nod. "Is his wife named Esme?" Another nod. "I remember her. Pretty woman; reddish brown hair. We volunteered together at one of the charity yard sales the school sponsored, the year before we left Seattle. Hmmm," she muses. "Such a shame they didn't accept him when he came out. But I guess you never know how people will react until it happens in their family."

"Wait, Mama," I have to interject. Clearly Rosie didn't share the nuances of the situation with her, in classic Rosalie "black and white" fashion. "I don't know if that's the case," and I fill in the missing pieces of my conversation with Carlisle, when he had shown nothing but pleasant acceptance of my sexuality.

"Puzzling indeed," she concedes once she's fully apprised. "I hate to have to suggest this, but..." She hesitates.

"Say what you're thinking, Mama," I encourage.

"Well, dear, maybe the fault doesn't lie wholly with the Cullens," she suggests. "It sounds to me as though Edward is..." Here again she stops, hesitant.

"Broken," I glumly finish her sentence.

"Well...I hate to think anyone is completely broken, my darling," she says sadly. "But, badly damaged seems appropriate."

"Yeah," I whisper, fearing my voice will break if I speak it aloud.

There seems to be nothing else to say. She reaches out and takes covers my hand with hers, gently patting it. We sit in silence for several moments, each lost in our own thoughts.

"I don't remember Edward," she eventually murmurs. "I can't picture him."

"Oh," I answer. "Wait here, I'll be back in a sec." I slip into my bedroom and collect the three photo frames, then return to the table, placing them in front of her.

"Wow," she muses as she examines them closely. "Who took these?"

"He did," I reply. "He's a photographer."

"Wait a minute," she says, and this time she's the one to get up from the table. She retrieves a magazine from her carry-on bag and brings it back to the table. Sitting, she flips through it to the "Contributing Artists" page. She points to one of the entries and says, " _This_ Edward Cullen?"

I peer at the monthly magazine. There's no photo of Edward, but the description is clear enough. "The same," I confirm, flipping to the article containing his photography. It's the article on the San Francisco Children's NICU, and the photo on the title page is a 26-week pre-term baby surrounded by tubes, wires and monitors. My heart wrenches, not only at the sight of such a small person fighting a huge battle; but at the thought of Edward, tears in his eyes, photographing this tiny human.

Mama leans close to examine the magazine with me, then returns her gaze to the photos of Edward and me. "He does lovely work," she says thoughtfully.

"He's brilliant," I reply, before my voice is cut off by the strangling sob that escapes from my chest. I lay my head on my arms on the table and surrender to the tears I've been fighting all day.

I feel Mama's arm slide across my shoulders, and her other hand gently caresses my hair. "It's okay, my darling," she murmurs gently. "Let it out."

And I sob, letting the heartbreak rip through me again; but the sharp edge seems blunted slightly by the warm comfort of my mother's gentle presence. She allows me to grieve, silently maintaining a vigil with me until my sobs quiet.

-o-

The rest of the day we spend in quiet communion together. She insists I lie down while she makes dinner. I relent, assuming I won't sleep; but to my surprise, I find her gently waking me up an hour later to tell me dinner's ready.

I go to bed early, not looking forward to having to return to work tomorrow. Again I wake up and find myself surprised by how deeply I've slept. The emotional havoc has taken more of a physical toll than I realized, I guess.

I kiss Mama goodbye for the day, encouraging her to give her friends a call today; and make my way to work.

Kathleen is at her desk when I arrive. She looks up, clearly expectant; and when I greet her with a wan, "Good morning," her face becomes a bit wary.

"Good morning, Jasper," she responds cautiously. "How was your weekend?"

Repressing a sigh, I decide to just go for complete honesty and get it out of the way. "It was pretty rotten," I reply. "The guy I was seeing...I'm not seeing him any longer."

"Oh my god," she gasps, and she jumps up from her desk to wrap me in a warm, spontaneous hug, which I return. When I pull back to look at her, her eyes are actually brimming with tears, and my heart is warmed at her empathetic response. "You were so happy last week about how things were going with him. Jasper, I'm so sorry."

"Thank you, Kathleen," I reply gratefully.

"Are you okay? Should you be here today?" she asks with concern.

"Well, honestly, I'd rather not be; but there's a lot to do, and it's not like I've earned any personal days yet," I reply.

"Please let me know if there's anything I can do to help, Jasper," she insists. "Really, anything – don't hesitate."

"My mother came up from Austin to say with me for a few days," I assure her. "She's taking good care of me."

"Thank goodness for moms," she avers.

I nod in agreement; then, inclining my head toward my office, I sigh, "I should get at it, I guess."

"Can I get you anything? A coffee?" she asks.

"I'll let you know," I smile as best as I can.

"Okay," she replies. "I'll do what I can to fend off the non-emergencies for you today, okay?"

"Thank you," I nod, appreciative of her compassion. "And Kathleen, I want to tell you how much I'm enjoying working with you. You're a very capable assistant; but you're also a pretty great person."

"Thanks, Jasper," she beams. "And as long as we're being all warm and fuzzy, you make it easy to work for you. It's really my pleasure."

"Thanks," I smile; then turn and step into my office. Getting myself organized, I throw myself into an analysis of the budget for the paediatric inpatients department. The hours start to slip away, and before I know it, it's nearly time for lunch. Kathleen sticks her head in my office door to let me know she's on her way out, and asks if she can pick me up something. "No, thanks," I reply, "I'll get out for something soon."

"Please make sure you do," she replies kindly. "Don't hide yourself away in here all day."

Several moments later, I hear a knock on my office door. "I promise I'll get some lunch, Kathleen," I respond, not looking up.

"It's not Kathleen," a male voice replies, and I look up in surprise.

In my office door stands Carlisle Cullen. My heart jumps into my throat. Of course he's here. He probably feels he's owed an explanation for what happened Friday night, and for my lack of candor when we met last week. I'm not sure I have it in me to explain it all today. And damn it, I honestly don't know if I want to. Haven't I been put through the wringer enough by the Cullen family in the last few days?

I stand, attempting to summon Jazz with no advance warning. "Carlisle," I reply calmly. Perhaps a bit more coldly than is strictly necessary; but it's a self-preservation instinct.

He looks uncomfortable, but determined; as though he'd rather be anywhere but here, but has no choice. "Jasper," he begins, "I debated coming to see you today. You don't owe me anything, and I'm sure I have no real right to ask you. But I hope you can understand how upset Esme and I were on Friday night, after seeing Edward; and realizing that you obviously know him better than you let on." He pauses, looking out the window. "And then watching him flee the restaurant without a word to either of us...you can't imagine how we felt..." His voice trembles a bit, and he breaks off, as though afraid to continue.

I wince a bit. I'm pretty sure I _can_ imagine how they felt. I was right - they are hurting. If only I could be proud of myself for being right. "Carlisle, I don't know what to say. I agree that you deserve an explanation; but I don't think I'm the one to give it. I can say this: Edward and I...we were seeing each other briefly. He ended it on Friday night."

He looks back to me, his eyebrows knitting together. "Because of us," he says. He's not asking; he knows.

"Well, to be honest, yes; it's partly because he saw us talking, but certainly not entirely. I didn't tell him you and I worked together. I was going to...but it's a poor excuse. I wasn't honest right away. I handled it badly. When he saw us together, it was a huge shock for him."

"Well, it would be hypocritical for me to criticize you for handling a situation poorly." He strides to my window and stands, looking out it, his hands clasped behind his back. It reminds me so much of Edward's posture on Friday night, when he stood staring out the windows of his apartment. "I feel like Esme and I are the poster children for it. Did Edward tell you about when we found out he was gay?"

"No," I shake my head. "And I didn't get to the point where I was comfortable asking. He's such a private person."

He turns back to me, his eyes full of understanding. "Believe me, I know. I can only imagine what his reaction was when he found out you and I knew each other, no matter how superficially." He waits, as though he expects me to share this with him.

"Carlisle, I don't want to be disloyal to Edward by discussing him without his knowledge." _I'd be doing exactly what he accused me of._ "If I am going to have any chance of mending things with him, I can't go down that road – not even now, while we're apart."

He looks disappointed at my reply, and for a moment says nothing. After a moment's reflection, he concedes, "You're right. I'm sure that's the wise course, Jasper. I'm disappointed in Edward's reaction. But I hope the two of you can find a way to work it out. I think you'd be good for him, and it's evident to me that you care a great deal for him."

There's no harm in being honest on this point. "I do care. Very much. We weren't together long, but..."

"I know, son. Just let me say again, that I'm so sorry for how Edward has chosen to react to this situation."

"Thank you, Carlisle," I return, though Edward's reaction is his alone – there's nothing Carlisle can do to change that. The sentiment is very kind, though. "Would you please pass along my apologies to Mrs. Cullen? I can only imagine how she's hurting in this situation; both of you, for that matter."

"That's very generous of you to say," he smiles gently. "Do you have a supportive family, Jasper?"

"Yes, sir," I reply. "My mother flew from Austin to Seattle yesterday after she found out about all of this."

He nods. "I'm glad to hear it. Never take it for granted, son."

"No, sir," I assert. "I certainly won't."

"Please let me know if there's anything I can do for you, Jasper," he says kindly.

"Thank you, Carlisle; likewise."

He shakes my hand, and hesitates for a moment, looking as though he's deciding whether he wants to say something. Clearly deciding in favor, he murmurs, "I'm sorry we won't have the chance to get to know you better. I would have liked that." Then abruptly, he turns and leaves my office.

-o-

 _Edward_

I go to Spin on Sunday night. The twinks, with their short attention spans, forget about my Tuesday night visit after I take a couple of them by the hands and pull them to the middle of the floor, sandwiching myself between them. I dance with several; then take one home and fuck him on my couch. He asks to stay. I kick him out.

-o-

Early Monday morning, I fly to Chicago. The flight is turbulent, and the guy beside me groans repeatedly, suffering from motion sickness. I usually fall asleep as soon as the plane takes off. This time, between the turbulence and my noisy seatmate, I'm repeatedly woken, and arrive in Chicago feeling rather irritated.

The first shoot is a night-time shoot at the Navy Pier. It's fucking freezing, and the models wrap up in blankets between shots. When the blankets come off, though, and the camera starts to click, they are transported back to a time when teenagers went to the hop in their saddle shoes and bobby socks; when high school teachers carried a ruler with them at school dances, to indicate how close was too close; when voluminous skirts and hair grease were de rigueur. I know exactly what the client wants from this shoot; and I talk the models through it, encouraging them. "Nice...beautiful, Karina...you're at an amusement park, Jamie – try to look amused...hold her hand, Stephen – perfect...great smile, Laura...let's try some dance moves, guys – good..." and it goes on. The kids do really well, getting into the spirit of the evening; and everyone has fun. The shoot goes off without a hitch; and we pack it up around 1 a.m.

-o-

Tuesday is an early morning, despite the late hours the night before; because I have a 9 a.m. shoot on the Michigan Avenue Bridge. Today's shoot is just the girls, and they're modeling the glamorous side of 1950s fashion – the sleek hair, the beautiful fabrics, the feminine details. I've worked with both Laura and Karina before, and they're complete professionals – no bullshit behavior I've so often encountered with other models. Again, we run into no major roadblocks, other than me having to almost shout at the models so they can hear me over the Chicago traffic.

After the shoot, I head back to my hotel room for a nap and some dinner. After dinner, I catch up on some emails; then I head to mosphere, on North Clark. It's my favorite Chicago gay bar, and I can be pretty well assured of picking up a hot fuck there.

The bartenders are friendly, the dancers are hot; and when the club closes, I bring one of the dancers back to my hotel and I fuck him. He asks to stay. I kick him out.

-o-

Wednesday I fly back to Seattle. No turbulence this time. No seat mate, either.

At home, I get to work on editing the photos. The girls were almost flawless; they require almost no work from me. I sigh, realizing the client will likely have their own staff airbrush the photos to make the girls look even skinnier. It's no wonder young people are growing up with such unhealthy body image these days.

I shut down my computer, frustrated. I've found myself distracted when working this week; something I'm not used to. Normally I lose myself in the work, whether it's the shoot or the post-production. This week, there's been something tugging on the edges of my consciousness when I'm immersed in it, fucking with my creative process. No, not something... _someone_. Damn him.

It's about 11 p.m. I take a quick shower, change, and head to Spin. As usual, I have my pick of the boys there. After dancing for a while, I choose one, take him home, and fuck him on the kitchen counter. He asks to stay.

I kick him out.

-o-


	19. Chapter 19

-o-

 _Jasper_

Thursday morning, my mother catches an early flight back to Austin. During the course of her visit she has, as promised, filled my freezer with my favorites from among her vast recipe collection; she has visited with some of her old friends from Seattle; and she has, just with her simple presence, been a balm for my battered soul.

She misses my dad, though; and I know he misses her as well. They hate to be away from each other, and since Dad's job requires so much less travelling now than it used to, they're almost never apart for even a night anymore. Each evening that she's here, he calls her before he goes to bed; and I overhear bits and pieces of my mother's whispered end of their conversations.

This time I insist that she let me take her to the airport, since I can take her there and still have time to get to work; and she is the one to relent. I accompany her into Sea-Tac Airport, as far as I can without a boarding pass. She reminds me that Emmett will be staying with me for a night next week, while he's in Seattle on business. We hug, holding the embrace for a long moment while she whispers words of encouragement. She releases me, places a kiss on my cheek, and says, "I love you, my darling."

I breathe a deep sigh. I'm always sorry to part with her; this time even more so. Returning to my car, I sit there for a few moment, contemplating

I have decided that I need to try to contact Edward. He said it was over; what if he was testing me? What if this is exactly what he expected me to do? I have to at least try to talk to him again. I won't be the instrument for his self-fulfilling prophesies. Driving to work, I debate when and how I should do this. I know he's been in Chicago for a few days, but assuming his plans didn't change, he should have returned to Seattle yesterday. Going to his apartment is out; he has a secure building – chances are he wouldn't let me in. Email is cowardly, and too easy to ignore. I want him to hear my voice. I decide to try calling him. I'll do it tonight.

At work, Kathleen asks me if I'd like to get together for lunch on Sunday with her and some of her friends. It sounds really nice and I gratefully accept her invitation. What Carlisle said about a support network is still true, even though Edward isn't part of it. I need to make some friends here, and I definitely don't want to spend the entire weekend in my apartment, brooding. Kathleen seems thrilled that I've agreed to go, and her infectious enthusiasm puts a grin on my face, in spite of myself.

At home after dinner, I stare out my living room window, trying to work up the nerve to call Edward; sorting out what I want to say. I know I definitely can't make unreasonable promises like I did last Friday night; but I absolutely must apologize for not being honest with him right away. Having had time to think about it has made me realize that, despite my suspicion that he would have stopped seeing me as soon as he found out, I can't let myself off the hook. I should have told him as soon as he got back from Vancouver. It's particularly deceitful since I deliberately kept it from him to protect my own interest, knowing he'd likely have an issue with it. I'm thoroughly ashamed of myself for doing it.

Of course, there's also the possibility that he'll hang up on me, not letting me explain at all. Or maybe he'll let it go to voicemail. In that case, I decide, I will going to leave a message briefly telling him that I regret concealing the truth and that I know it was wrong; and I'll ask him to please give me a call back so I can at least apologize to him directly.

My decision made, I turn quickly and resolutely away from the window and stalk to the end table, where my cell phone lays, taunting me. I take a few deep breaths to steady my nerves and my voice; and then I seize the moment and the phone. Dial Edward's home number. It rings...rings again...twice more...answering machine.

"You've reached Edward Cullen. Please leave a message, including your phone number, and I'll return your call." Short and to the point; now, for me to do the same.

"Edward...it's Jasper," I start. "I'm calling because I want to tell you that I'm so sorry that I wasn't honest with you about working with your dad. I thought I had a good reason for not telling you right away; but I was wrong. You're the one person I should have been completely honest with, right from the start. Friday night was...awful. The worst night of my life. I was hoping I could talk to you directly, to tell you how sorry I am. I hope you'll call me back-"

At that moment the machine beeps loudly in my ear, and I hear the telephone receiver being lifted. "Jasper," says Edward's voice flatly.

"Edward, I'm so glad you picked up," I begin, but he cuts me off.

"I picked up to tell you not to bother," he says bluntly. "I told you Friday – it's over."

"I know what you said," I reply. I strive to keep my voice calm and level. It's easier this time, since I don't have the panic of being afraid to lose him. He's already gone. "But I didn't get the chance to apologize properly. I asked you to put your trust in me, and I hid something very important from you. I'll regret it for the rest of my life."

"I'm not interested in your apology – it means shit to me," he snaps. The acerbity in his voice shocks me; somehow I thought that maybe with a bit of time he would have gotten some more perspective on the situation. Instead, his bitterness seems only to have grown, consuming him.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," I say quietly. "I'd hoped..."

"What? That suddenly I'd be okay that you lied to me? That it wouldn't bother me anymore?"

"That we could talk. And that...if you understood my reasons, you might be able to consider forgiving me," I reply.

He snorts. "Don't call me again, Jasper," he says curtly. His words are followed by the sound of the receiver slamming into the cradle.

I hit "end" on my cell and sink onto my couch. That didn't go well at all. So much for _I'll see it through_. I'm saddened, but not terribly surprised. I had hoped he might listen; but honestly, that would have been best-case scenario; and I'm enough of a realist to have known ahead of time how unlikely that would be.

And now, it's really over. No point in holding out any more hope for a reconciliation. At least I didn't allow myself to get my hopes up this time; if I had, I would have been thoroughly crushed again. I've had time for the reality to sink in, I guess. I'm sad, of course; I still love him, and I miss him. He's been my fantasy for over ten years. I suppose it's likely very true that the reality can never live up to what fantasies our minds construct for us.

I'll definitely never forget him. But perhaps some people _are_ just too damaged, I muse. I don't have what it takes to repair him single-handedly; and there's certainly nothing I can do if he's not willing to admit the damage even to himself.

So now, I have to attempt to move on – however that's done. I remember Kathleen's invitation and manage a little smile. She has suggested Macrina Cafe down in Belltown, and promised to bring a good group of some of her best friends, both gay and straight. As I'm contemplating the prospect of making some new friends, my phone rings beside me. Just as it has done every day this week whenever my phone has rung, my heart leaps just a bit at the thought that it could be Edward. This time, it seems rather impossible, but the thought briefly flickers to my mind anyways.

I answer cautiously. "Hello?"

"Jasper!" I hear a warm, jovial voice reply.

"Jacob?" I gasp in surprise.

"You recognized my voice!" he teases; and I can picture the grin he is almost certainly wearing.

"Pffft," I reply, playfully. "Give me some credit."

"How are you?" he asks; and for a moment I don't know how to answer. Misinterpreting my silence, he quickly follows up with, "I'm not calling to make things weird. I just wanted to see how you're doing with settling in to the new place, and how you like being in Seattle."

"Well, Seattle hasn't changed all that much – it's still wet," I reply, attempting to be cheerful. "I'm enjoying the city, in spite of the rain."

"And," he continues, "how are you?"

"I'm okay," I hedge.

"Well, that's doesn't sound terribly enthusiastic," he sniffs.

"Honestly, Jake, I've been better," I admit.

"Uh-oh," his voice takes on a concerned tone. "What's wrong? Missing San Francisco?"

"Well...a bit, I guess. It's not really that, so much..."

"Then what is it?" he prompts.

"Um...I feel weird talking to you about this, Jake," I stall.

"Oh, come on," he scoffs. "We were together for three years, Jasper. We know each other pretty well. Even better since we broke up, I'd say." _Ouch_ , I wince. That was a little below the belt. Fortunately he realizes this immediately. "Sorry; I didn't mean that the way it sounded. Honest, Jasper - I'm not calling to make you feel guilty. In fact...well, I'm seeing someone."

"Really?" I reply dubiously.

"His name's Nathan," Jake continues enthusiastically. "He's a real estate agent. I met him when I was looking for a new place to live after we...well, you know," he glazes over the awkward truth, and I choose to do the same. "We didn't start seeing each other till after I'd closed on the new place. He brought a bottle of champagne over as a thank you, and, well, we've barely left each other's side since."

"Aw, Jake," I smile in spite of myself. "That's so great. You sound so happy!" It is exactly what I'd hoped would happen for him, that he could find someone new. Jacob is such a genuinely happy and friendly person – I'm sure he had guys lining up once they heard we weren't together any longer.

"Thanks, Jasper. I've never _been_ happier." I can hear it in his voice. "So that's why I had to call you, to tell you that I understand now what you meant – that we were better as friends. Everything was fine, of course; and it was comfortable. And I love you – I always will."

"I love you too, Jake," I murmur.

"But I understand what you were saying; because now I have this with Nathan, and it's nothing I've ever experienced before."

I'm torn between grinning and sighing – I choose grinning. "Jake, you deserve so much happiness, and I'm glad you've found it with Nathan. Can't wait to meet him."

"Thanks, Jay," he affirms. "So...are you going to tell me why you're just 'okay'?" I hesitate, and he prompts, "Aw, come on; maybe I can help."

"You can't help, Jake," I sigh. "I was seeing someone and we broke up last weekend."

"Wait, you were seeing someone already?" He repeats the same question everyone else has asked about my relationship with Edward. "Were you already involved before you moved to Seattle?"

I give him a brief recap of my relationship with Edward, touching only upon my high-school crush and our short but intense courtship; and leaving out the part about his parents.

"Wow, he sounds pretty intense," Jake whistles.

"Yeah," I nod. "Couldn't sustain itself, I guess."

"Look, baby, you know there are plenty of guys around who would jump at the chance to go out with a smexy guy like you," he assures me. "You just have to make sure they know you're available. You won't meet anyone sitting at home."

"I know," I nod. "I'm meeting some new people on Sunday; my assistant invited me out for lunch and she's bringing a group of friends."

"Good, good," he replies. "I'm glad."

I almost feel as though he's being much better to me than I deserve, given what I did to him; and so although I've told him several times before, I say again, "Jake...I'm sorry I hurt you."

"I forgive you, Jasper. How could I not? I hope you find someone too; but you know San Francisco will be here, if you ever want to come back. You'll always have a friend here; two, in fact, because Nathan wants to meet you too."

I smile. Jake is so big-hearted; I know I'll always be able to count on him. "Thanks, Jake," I whisper with gratitude.

"You're welcome," he replies. "Look, I need to get going, because I'm meeting Nate in a bit; but I just wanted to call and tell you that. And Jay?"

"Yeah?"

"Love you," he murmurs.

"Love you too," I return. "Bye, Jake."

"Bye."

Putting down the phone, I feel both sad and relieved. Jake was so blindsided when I finally admitted to him that I wasn't in love with him anymore. I felt horrible; but I couldn't go on lying to myself or to him, pretending that I was still in love with him. It wasn't fair to either of us.

But now, it seems that things have worked out for him, as he deserves them to. He has forgiven me for breaking his heart, which is, perhaps, more than I deserve; and most important, he sounds incandescently happy.

Instead, it's me who is sitting at home, nursing a wounded heart. If I was in San Francisco, my friends would support me through a mourning period; then take me out to the clubs to get me appropriately smashed and help me dance my troubles away. But I'm not in San Francisco; I'm in Seattle, by my choice. And it's time for another choice: to get my shit together. I'm not exactly ready to hit up the clubs again; but I also don't have to sit here like a lump by myself every night either. I don't have to see Edward's face every time I look at my bed.

And I definitely don't have to keep the photographs of us on my nightstand. I jump up from the couch and head to my bedroom. The photos are sit there, always ready and willing to keep my pain fresh. But no more – I retrieve them and take them to my desk in the den. I whisper, "Goodbye," to the happy pair in the frames; and then I lock them in the bottom drawer.

Time to move on, Kas.

-o-

 _Edward_

After I hang up on Jasper, I'm trembling. Seeing his number on the caller ID was a bit of a shock; since he hasn't called me since I kicked him out of my apartment, I sort of thought he wouldn't try to call at all. Actually speaking to him has put a tightness in my chest; my legs are trembling, my hands are clenched. And yet I can't say I feel particularly angry – just shaken, as the adrenaline courses through my body.

I feel like I need to get out of my apartment; run somewhere, escape the ghosts of the conversation that linger, taunting me, in the room. I change quickly into my cold-weather running gear and flee the apartment. On the streets, I weave around obstacles, both animate and inanimate; trying to outrun the memories that lap around my feet, like being pursued by an ice-cold wave at the beach, trying to make it to the sand before the water freezes me.

My feet pound on the pavement, and I start to chant in my head, _fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you_ , in time with my footfalls. By the time I've looped back to my building, five miles later, I feel victorious, certain that I've managed to leave the unpleasantness of those emotions behind me. I mount the stairs to my apartment cautiously, almost feeling that the memories might lay in wait to attack me again. As I open the door to my apartment, though, I have to roll my eyes at myself. _Drama queen, much?_

After a shower, I feel much better – the tension is gone and I feel like just relaxing. No Spin for me tonight. Instead I decide to head to my laptop and check my email. I've been waiting to hear about a job that would take me over to Italy for a week; and I'm pretty excited about it. I've been considering staying in Italy after the job for a week or two, taking a vacation. I'm going to be there anyways, and it's a good time to get away.

I click the Thunderbird link in my quick-launch toolbar, and wait as the emails populate on the screen. One is a question about licensing some of my existing portfolio for a website; I'll deal with that one tomorrow. Next is a link to my newest credit card statement – I'm sure there won't be any surprises there; I'll come back to pay it in a minute. An email from a potential client I met when I was in San Francisco; that could be a good job. But no email about the job in Italy.

I curse softly under my breath; I really want that job. Going back to the email from my credit card company, I click the link and sign in to my online statement. _What the fuck?_ The balance is about $300 higher than I'd thought it would be. I wonder whether someone has stolen my card number? Tapping my fingers on my desk, I peruse the list of charges – everything seems fine...until I come to the charge for my cell phone bill, which I have automatically billed to the credit card. The charge for the cell phone bill is much higher than it should be – in fact, it's the entire additional amount.

Fucking cell phone company. What did they screw up now? I swear, I'm ready to switch to a different provider. I open a new browser tab and log in to the wireless company's site to view _that_ statement. Again, all the charges look to be what they should be – the services I subscribe to are correct. I scan the list of outgoing calls; all fall within my phone plan, except one – a charge for $297.38 for an outgoing call. That's the one – they've obviously screwed up somehow.

I grab my phone and dial the customer service number for the wireless company. After going through the automated system, I finally get a customer service agent. I explain my problem to her, and she calls up my account to look at the charge.

"Okay, Mr. Cullen," she says in a soft Indian accent, "I'm showing that the reason for the high charge is that the call was made from outside the country; so roaming charges apply on top of the international rates; those charges add up very quickly, I'm afraid. I see as well that the duration of the call was quite a long time. Were you travelling outside the country recently, Mr. Cullen?...Mr Cullen? Sir, are you still there?"

As she speaks, my eyes focus on the phone number to which the call was made. I was so certain the charge was incorrect that I didn't even look at the number...but now I know...I know what this call is…I know the charge is correct.

And as the realization sets in, my heart...cold, black, frozen...it stutters.

And then...

...it shatters.

-o-


	20. Chapter 20

-o-

 _Edward_

"Mr. Cullen?" The softly-accented voice of the woman on the phone persists. "Sir – are you okay?"

"Thank you," I choke out, and hang up the phone. My heart pounds, my body trembles. I feel as though I could pass out. Slowly, I swivel my chair away from the desk and manage to lurch to my couch; it catches me as I collapse. The memory of that phone call takes hold. The wave that lapped at my feet has suddenly swollen to a tsunami, and I am drowning in the mind flood.

The sweet pleasure of talking dirty to him on the phone while we each sought our mutual release…the raw, exposed feeling afterward…the expanding, hollow balloon, pressing on the walls of my chest till it felt like I could burst from the inside out…the loneliness plunging me into a brief, horrible anxiety attack…begging Jasper to stay on the phone with me while we fell asleep.

 _I don't care if it costs me a thousand fucking dollars! Please, fall asleep with me._

And…Jesus Christ…he did. God damn it, Jasper did what I asked. He stayed on the phone with me that night. And then, the next day when I returned to Seattle and joined him at his apartment, he took me into his arms, and he held me, and he danced with me, and he kissed me, and…he loved me.

An anguished cry rips from my chest. _Oh my god._ I have spent so many years sequestering myself, barricading against any emotion that could threaten my solitary existence. I protected myself when I ended things with Jasper; and when I saw his name on my caller ID, I had a moment in which to steel myself against his entreaties.

But this…this mundane thing – a fucking cell phone bill…how could I have anticipated that it would be a Trojan Horse, gliding easily through the gate I opened when I expected the danger had passed? And now, after an unsuccessful ten-year siege, the Greeks have plundered the city and lain waste to the walls that protected the fragile heart within.

Every memory I tried to block, every conversation I thought I'd been able to forget; every soft caress and tender look; the softly-whispered _I love you_ …they never went away – they were waiting until the city fell. All the things I didn't want to think about – now I have no choice. They are hurling themselves at me, again and again, demanding contemplation.

He loved me. Of course he loved me. Despite the fact that I have barely a redeeming quality; despite that I am moody and uncommunicative. He wasn't open with me about my father, but nor did I ever mention my parents to Jasper, even once, although he had made small passing mentions about his family numerous times during that weekend we spent together at his apartment. I could have told him then, even the briefest details, to trust him with that small amount so that he wouldn't have to fly completely blind. But I didn't. When I broke up with him I accused him of asking for my trust and not giving me his; but honestly, I never truly gave it to him.

When I came into the hallway of that restaurant and saw Jasper talking to my parents, it was one of the most surreal moments of my life, like a slap in the face when I expected a kiss. I'd been ready to tell him how I was feeling about him; instead, confronted by the opprobrious sight of him with my parents, I went a little crazy. I felt so fucking foolish, as though I'd missed something that I seriously should have known all along. Of course it was too good to be true; of course I was being set up for something. Of course this could never really happen for someone as completely fucked up as me.

I told him, didn't I…that first night… _I am the asshole, Jazz. I'm self-centered, and I'm cold. I don't have friends…_ But he just couldn't leave it alone. That boy gently, assiduously, burrowed his way in, bit by bit, until he had my heart resting in his beautiful hands. And then, he took my heart and threw it in my face, pointing out to me how truly screwed up I am because I have no family photos in my apartment.

Those words…from anyone else, I'd have ignored them entirely. Hearing them from Jasper, who had been so gentle with my flawed soul, took my breath away. I slid into a wintry lake, plunged into frigid water beneath a layer of ice. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't scream; I was numb. And then I fought back, kicking my way through that ice, shattering it with the glass in my bedside photo.

I flinch now as I remember the light of understanding registering on his beautiful face; his horror as he realized that I did, in fact, have a photo of _my_ loved one in my apartment. His panic as he apologized, as he pleaded, crying, asking me to believe him. The memory of his tears, his entreaties for forgiveness – they plunge me from shock into utter despair. Though I was shocked at finding he worked with my father, I'm forced to admit to myself that my real motivation was retaliation towards Jasper for his hurtful words. I wanted him to feel the sting I felt.

And I believe he felt it – his face when he left my apartment that night haunts my memory now. His pleading eyes, red and swollen from crying; the remorse and regret so plainly written across his entire demeanor; and his final words before he left, uttered quietly, faithfully, despite the brutal and unceremonious manner in which I evicted him from my apartment and my life.

 _I love you._

I grab a pillow from above my head on the end of the couch, and pulling it to my face, I scream into it, my regret and frustration forcing the air from my lungs in a wail of utter torment. _Oh god, oh god!_ My Kas – what have I done? When no air remains, I draw in a sharp breath, and it becomes a sob. Painful sobs overtake me, racking me as though to tear the fabric of my soul from my body. I weep for the loss of my sweet angel; bitterly I curse the weak, terrified moral fiber that made me push him away – made me push away the boy I love.

Because I love him, too; of course I love him. In these days since I kicked him out, I've barely allowed myself to think of him, telling myself that he was entirely to blame, that I could, and should, just go back to the life I had before him. The life where I got everything I thought I wanted – maximum gain with minimal risk to me. But now, with the flood of memories rising fast around me, his face is all I can see; I want to smell his musky, chai scent; feel his warm, strong arms wrapped around me; his delicate, soft lips on mine. I want to _feel_. The life I had before – it wasn't really living. It was some strange sort of half-life, a bare minimum of existence.

And now, I feel; but what I feel is a complete despair that threatens to swallow me whole. Desperately I pull the pillow back to my face as another cry of anguish escapes me; a stone would cry out from this torment.

The leather couch cushion beneath my face is slick with my tears; my face feels swollen and my arms ache for him. For an instant, I consider reaching for my phone to call him, apologize to him and beg his forgiveness; but almost immediately I discard the idea. I am so flawed, so imperfect in my makeup – how can he ever consider forgiving me? Especially since I hung up on him when he asked for my forgiveness. He must know, now, that for all my attempts to prove otherwise, that I am unworthy of him, too weak and afraid to forgive.

Because Jasper is strong. He's not perfect, I know – he should have told me he worked with my father. But otherwise, he is a strong person. When he told me what he must have realized would be very difficult to hear – that my father knew he was gay and didn't care; wished him well, in fact – I flipped out on him, accusing him of lying. Jasper could have backed down or left it out entirely, given how upset I was. I'm sure he'd rather not have risked upsetting me further. Instead, he stood his ground, quietly and steadfastly sharing the difficult truth with me although he must have known it would only add fuel to the fire.

My father.

Accusing Jasper of colluding with my father was grasping at straws. It didn't take me long, no more than a day or two, to realize that a plot between them was rather far-fetched; though I swear it seemed entirely plausible at the time. Jasper wanting to know more about my past, my parents wanting information about my current life...together they could work out something "mutually beneficial". It would have been a good reason for Jasper to keep secret his work relationship with my father.

The truth is, I don't even know what I should believe my father capable of. I don't know him; I have barely conversed with him in the past ten years, and not at all since I graduated college. I don't know to what extent he would go, particularly where my mother's happiness is concerned. Unfailingly, she has tried to contact me several times a year, leaving messages on my voicemail in that soft, barely-pleading voice; telling me how much they miss me, how she loves me and wishes I would call. Of course, I haven't; and if my father has observed my mother becoming despondent about the state of our relationship, he may be tempted to bow to questionable tactics in the hopes of mending fences for her sake.

But Jasper is not a recreant. Now that I am allowing myself to acknowledge the truth about him, I feel embarrassed that I considered him capable of such an arrangement, and mortified that I actually came out and accused him of it. When I listen to my heart, I can admit this to myself. No, he wasn't immediately straightforward about his work relationship with my father; but aside from that, he's brave. He pulled up roots and followed his heart back to Seattle, seeking out and taking a chance on what he hoped would bring him happiness.

But what about me? Can I say I have sought real happiness for myself? I have avoided any true human contact, aside from the pursuit of fleeting sexual pleasure. I've cut my parents out of my life, timorous for their disapproval and disappointment. At age twenty-six I have no friends and no prospect for actual happiness, save what fulfillment I find in my career. If there are any cowards in this equation, it's me.

And now I'm alone in my apartment, crying my heart out late on a Thursday night, imprisoned in a barren wasteland of my own construct; realizing that I don't want to be here anymore. I want to live. I want to feel. I want to love.

But this prison is secure, and aside from my few weeks with Jasper, love has not penetrated the fortress walls. In its absence, I have been turned into stone. I'm terrified that I don't know how to love anymore; I mean, I can feel it – I know now that I feel love for Jasper – but I'm afraid that I don't know how to be in a loving relationship, even as a son or a friend. I don't know how people have friendships. I knew once; I starved the knowledge until it died.

I need to learn again. I want to learn again. I need to go where I can learn again.

And now I'm up, off my couch, grabbing my cell phone and my keys; throwing on my jacket, snatching my wallet from the kitchen counter. I'm out the door and running down the stairs. In seconds I'm in my car and racing out of my parking lot, crossing the dark wet streets that will carry me to my destination. The pavement slips away beneath the wheels, and I'm afraid I can't possibly get there quickly enough, no matter how fast I drive.

At last I arrive, pulling my Volvo up to the curb; my heart at once feels as though it has been seized by large unseen hands. Torturously they squeeze, and I must brace myself, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on my chest, attempting break free from the pressure that threatens to incapacitate me. Eventually I'm able to breathe my way through it, and the feeling subsides. I sit a couple of moments longer, agonizing over what to say.

Finally I can put it off no longer. A moment later I am standing in front of the door, my heart thudding in my throat and the blood rushing through my ears as I knock on the door. The tears, which have abated slightly during my drive, start to flow more freely again as I await my fate.

The door swings open, and he stands before me. For a moment neither of us speak; I am unable because of my tears, he is unable because of a state of abject shock. His mouth opens and closes several times, but no sound is produced.

Finally I wrest back enough control that I can manage to collect my breath; and then I straighten and look him in the eye before speaking. Still, I manage barely more than a whisper.

"Dad…"

-o-


	21. Chapter 21

-o-

 _Carlisle_

The day I became a father for the first time was one of the most exciting, moving and terrifying days of my life. It was the early 1980s; fathers had been welcomed into the mysterious world of childbirth only in the previous ten years or so. Of course, as a doctor, I had been present at a few births in medical school. As the father of this unborn child, however, I'd become entirely enamored of the process from the day Esme told me she was expecting.

When I first held my newborn son in my arms, I promised him and myself that I would be the best father I could possibly be; that I would have a real relationship with him and any siblings he may have; that I would emulate my own father's example of being warm, open and accessible to my children. For 15 years, I thought I was succeeding. I had a close and loving relationship with Edward and with my daughter Alice. The four of us travelled together, spent time together by choice, ate dinner together every night when my surgery schedule allowed. As Edward moved into his teens, Esme and I decided he had earned the right to have a bit more freedom and trust from us; and so though we still asked where he was going, with whom, and when he'd be back, we didn't think it was necessary to be the ones who called to make the arrangements with his friends' parents. We extended his curfew somewhat. We thought we were doing everything right – gently releasing the spring we held in our palms so that once we had let go, it would continue to rest with us, rather than leaping away.

And then, one February day, it all went horribly awry.

I had just come out of an appendectomy at the hospital when I received an urgent page telling me to call home. My heart leapt into my throat, and various scenarios flashed before me – one of the kids was hurt; or Esme'd had an accident…I couldn't get to the phone fast enough. When I heard Esme's voice on the other end of the line, so distraught that she almost couldn't speak, I feared the worst. She told me I needed to go to the school to pick up Edward; but couldn't say much else. I figured that if it was a medical emergency, an ambulance would have been called, so that gave me a tiny measure of relief.

I could not have anticipated what awaited me in Mr. Brown's office that day. When I was shown into the office, sitting there was a boy who looked remarkably like my son; but he was wearing clothing I'd never allow my children to wear, either in or out of the house. A sleeveless shirt that had been cut off around the navel; ridiculously tight jeans; and _bracelets_. Mr. Brown, by that time, had realized from Esme's reaction that we had no prior knowledge of Edward's double life; and he explained the situation to me as compassionately as he could.

My son was gay. I was in shock. My son was gay, and he never told us. Had we not encouraged the kids to be open with us? Had I failed in my attempts to be approachable? Was he having sex? Was he being safe? I had no idea, and I felt like an utter fool. Worse, I felt like I'd had failed Edward for not knowing this. I had noticed a change in Edward in the previous couple of months, but chalked it up to teenage hormones. It honestly wasn't a drastic change; just a reticence about spending time with us that hadn't been there before. Many teenagers go through a period where they're uncommunicative with their parents. I truly believed that if there was something serious he needed to tell us, he would.

But he didn't. I hadn't asked, he hadn't told; and now we were in a situation where, not only did we not have the faintest clue what was going on with him, it seemed _everyone else did_. And as much as I couldn't help feeling that he had betrayed us, it was nothing compared to how I had failed him. I should have known. I prided myself on how close we were – how did I not know?

When I spoke to him that afternoon, after we had arrived home and I had done what I could to calm Esme, I was much harsher than I should have been. It hurt bitterly to realize that he hadn't come to us – to me – about this, that he hadn't trusted me with it. What I said to him was true – we were disappointed that he didn't tell us and that we'd had to found out through his principal. To this day, though, I deeply regret telling him he'd betrayed and made fools of us.

At first, I couldn't understand why Edward would have assumed that his mother and I wouldn't accept his sexuality. Didn't he know that we were supportive of gay rights? Didn't he know that my scrub nurse, Mary, was a lesbian, and was one of my closest friends at the hospital? But as I had time to reflect, I realized that he probably _didn't_ know those things. He likely didn't realize that Esme and I had always been more socially liberal than many of the other Lake Union Prep parents. We hadn't really ever discussed it at home, other than between Esme and me, because we didn't want Edward to be worried that he would be defined among his friends according to our much more liberal values. And as my own awareness of gay and lesbian issues expanded, I realized how heterosexist I had been in our own household – I never once framed conjecture about his adult life in any way other than a heterosexual context. I never said, _Some day when you fall in love_ …; I only said, _Some day when you have a girlfriend_ … or _When you get married_ … – an option available only to heterosexual couples.

As I contemplated these things, I understood, at least in part, why Edward had been hesitant to tell us he was gay. I was still hurt and in shock; but I felt hope that as we discussed things, he would realize that we would support him.

Except he wouldn't discuss it. That day in our living room was the last time I saw my son as I knew him. Literally overnight, he became a virtual stranger to us – refusing to eat meals with the family, almost never leaving his room except to go to school and to attempt to sneak out, to go who-knows-where. He defied us at every turn, getting sent home from school over and over, for dress code violations and for getting into physical altercations because of his sexuality. Calm discussions with him were a thing of the past; our interactions, when he actually responded, took the form of yelling matches between he and I – something that would never have happened before; our house barely heard a voice raised except in laughter. After our arguments, Esme always ended up in tears, and Edward would stomp off to hibernate in his room again. It was a terrible strain on our family life. Esme and I tried to support each other, but sometimes we were at a loss as to how to deal with the situation and the strain wore on us. Poor Alice, several years younger than Edward, barely understood why this was happening. We tried to shield her from as much of the unpleasantness as possible, but when I argued with Edward, it was impossible to keep it from her.

Most of the time, though, Edward didn't argue. I could barely even say he was sullen, because that would imply too much emotion. The sensitive, thoughtful, artistic boy we had known, ceased to exist to us; and we were told by his teachers that they experienced a similar phenomenon. Edward just didn't respond. It was as though others weren't in the room – he went about his business and didn't reply when spoken to, and rarely spoke to anyone unless it was absolutely necessary. The arguments, when they happened, were almost a relief, because at least he was showing some spirit; at least he was talking to us.

The only thing we never had to argue about was his report card; and we hoped desperately that this was a good sign – that he might actually settle down, return to us. When he received his acceptance letter for San Francisco Art Institute, we were surprised but pleased. We didn't even know he'd applied there; and the photography program was difficult to get into. When he went off to college, we clung to the hope that being out from under our shadow would be good for him. We thought when he went to college, he'd meet some new friends – kids who hadn't been raised by the narrow-minded homophobes like the Lake Union parents; kids who would accept him for who he was.

And he may very well have made those friendships; I have no idea. The most information we got about his life at college was the letter we'd receive from the school, letting us know what his grades were. Thank goodness he had to rely on us for his tuition, because otherwise we wouldn't even have had that. Edward rarely came home on holidays, though he was just a short plane-ride away; and never sought a Seattle-based summer internship. When he graduated with his Fine Arts degree, he moved directly to Chicago; and until last Friday night, I hadn't laid on eyes on him since his graduation, in spite of his having returned to Seattle two years ago. We've barely spoken – not for lack of an effort on Esme's part – since he graduated college.

We were shocked to see him at the restaurant; although, living in the same city, it wasn't impossible. Still, seeing him bolt out of the restaurant at the sight of us was more than Esme could bear. We spent a very difficult weekend in tears and discussion, coming to the conclusion that it was too emotionally taxing for her to continue to try to contact him, particularly when this latest event had illustrated so clearly that he wouldn't even be in the same restaurant with us. She finally had conceded reluctantly that she didn't know whether she could make the effort any longer, when it seemed so clear that she would be continually rebuffed.

My conversation with Jasper on the following Monday gave us a bit more insight into why Edward had left the restaurant so quickly. He was upset with Jasper, but ultimately it still came back to us. He broke up with Jasper because of his connection, however superficial, with Esme and me. Jasper, who seemed like such an intelligent, grounded young man, who cared deeply for our son. Someone like him would have been very good for Edward, might have been able to convince Edward to reopen communication with us. The kind of young man I'd be proud to call my son-in-law.

It was painful to relay the contents of that conversation to Esme, but obviously I had no choice. We finally grasped that there might not be any reason to hope for a reconciliation with him.

-o-

To say that I am surprised to see Edward on our doorstep tonight is a grave understatement. The knock on the door late at night rouses me from my sleep, and although this is one of the "better" neighborhoods in the city, I still grab my baseball bat from behind my bedroom door, to carry with me as I answer the door. When I open the door to see him there, I think at first I must be dreaming. But in my dreams, he's cold, bitter; in my dreams he turns and walks away from me as I call his name. The person who stands before me at my door is a broken man – his eyes swollen and red, the tears on his cheeks glistening in the porch lights, his hand leaning heavily against the door frame as though it is vital to help him remain upright.

I can't speak – I can barely comprehend that this broken person standing on my door step is my son, and that he has come to us, voluntarily. My mouth opens and closes several times in an attempt to speak, but no words come.

He is the first one to break the silence. "Dad…" he whispers, fighting desperately to regain his composure. _Dad._ He hasn't called me Dad since the day he apologized to me in the car – since then he hasn't used Dad or even my first name when speaking to me. Hearing him say it for the first time in ten years - at once I am assailed with more emotions than I can name. I begin to tremble, and I, too, have to clutch the door frame to keep standing.

"Edward…?" I rasp, and he doesn't move. Suddenly, on the stairs behind me I hear frantic movement, and turn to see Esme fly down the stairs, from the top where she has presumably been listening to make sure that the person at the door poses no danger.

"Edward!" she cries, coming to stand beside me, her hand extended to her son. Esme would never be able to turn her back on her child, no matter what she and I have agreed upon.

Edward looks at her outstretched hand, and then looks at me, as much to ask whether I will allow him in. I meet Esme's eyes and the look of fierce determination I see there is something I don't ever want to have to take sides against. Looking again at Edward, I too hold out my hand to him, and step to the side just a bit, so that he can enter the house if he chooses. He deliberates just a moment more, and then he reaches out to grasp the hands we hold out to him. He steps into the light of the foyer, and I close the door behind him.

"Mother," he says, his voice scratched and raw. Letting go of my hand, he wraps his arms around her. She holds him tightly as well, both with tears flowing freely; and together they sink to the floor of our front hall. Clutching him to her as she did when he was a child in need of comfort, she rocks their bodies back and forth, her hair smoothing his wild locks that are the same color as hers.

"Shhhhh," she soothes, again and again. "It's okay, my darling; I'm here. You're home now." And our son, in her arms, sobs as though his heart is splitting in two.

They remain that way for over an hour. I stand by, impotently watching as my wife holds Edward. I'm completely at a loss to even begin to speculate on what cataclysmic event has brought him home tonight. Finally his cries quiet. Kneeling beside them, I suggest that perhaps we should go to sleep, and the three of us can talk in the morning.

Edward nods his head. Sniffling, he asks, "Where should I sleep?"

"In your bed, son," I reply, and hold a hand out to each to help pull them up off the floor.

Upstairs in Edward's room, he looks around sadly and cautiously at the boyish posters that still cover the walls; Esme has always refused to redecorate this room. She turns down the covers on the bed and Edward slowly sits down, then turns and flops out lengthwise on the bed. Esme unties his shoes and pulls the covers up over him.

"Good night, Edward," I say, and he makes eye contact, giving me a sad half-smile; and then I look expectantly at Esme.

"I'll stay in here tonight, darling," she answers my unspoken question.

"You'll what?" I ask. She motions for me to step into the hall outside the bedroom; and when we're standing on the outside of the closed door, I continue, "I don't think it's necessary for you to stay in his room, Esme, he's a grown man."

Esme is a loving, gentle creature – the best woman I've ever known. When her mother bear instinct is triggered, though, she can be truly terrifying. As we stand in the dim hallway, her eyes flash at me, and I feel an overwhelming urge to protect my vital organs.

"Carlisle Cullen, don't you dare tell me what is necessary for my child," she whispers furiously. "What if he wakes up and decides to slip out again when we're asleep? My boy came home to me tonight, Carlisle, and I'm not going to let him get away again. Grown man or not, he is hurting, and I am going to be there for him, for as long as he'll let me." Her fury subsides a bit, and she tilts her head up to give me a kiss, and then turns back toward the door. "Good night; I'll see you in the morning." With that she disappears into the dark in Edward's room.

In my bed, I lie awake for hours, tossing and turning; finally dropping into a restless sleep sometime after four a.m. I awaken at seven and slip quietly down the hall to look in on mother and son.

Esme is asleep half-sitting up, propped on numerous pillows. Edward is snuggled into her, his head resting on her soft abdomen. It reminds me of when I used to come home after midnight from a shift at the hospital, to find that the two of them had fallen asleep together reading in Edward's bed. This morning it gives me the sense that I'm interrupting something private, a special moment between mother and son, though they're both asleep. I close the door quietly and make my way down to the kitchen to put on some coffee.

After calling the hospital to let them know that I won't be in today, I sit at our breakfast table to contemplate what I'm going to say to Edward today. First and foremost, he needs to open up to us about what caused him to come to us. I don't even know if he might be in some kind of trouble with the law; though it seems out of character from the young man I once knew, anything is possible. Of course, it doesn't escape me that the timing of this closely coincides with the end of his relationship with Jasper. Is it possible that Edward regrets ending their relationship? Jasper didn't seem to think it was likely that they would get back together; but then Edward has never really reacted to anything the way I anticipate.

As I ruminate, the phone rings. I pick it up quickly so it doesn't wake Esme and Edward, and when I answer, I hear a familiar bright voice at the other end.

"Dad!" says Alice. "How are you? I'm surprised to hear you. What are you doing home? Day off today? You guys going somewhere? Where's Mom? Is she up yet?" Alice tosses questions at me in her typical rapid-fire style, not waiting for an answer before racing on to the next one.

When she pauses for a breath I take the opportunity to say, "Yes, I'm staying home today. We're not going anywhere, though. We have a bit of…a family emergency."

"What?" she squeaks. "An emergency? Why didn't anyone tell me? What's wrong? Is Mom okay?"

"Mom's fine," I assure her. "This just transpired late last night; too late to call you."

"What transpired?" she demands, and because the question isn't immediately followed up by another question, I know she's waiting for a straightforward answer.

"Your brother showed up on our doorstep last night, Alice," I murmur.

She is silent. Though I can't see her, I can imagine the frown on her face as she thinks of Edward. Alice has no happy feelings for her brother; and I'd venture that she doesn't even feel particularly sad when she thinks of him. She resents him, deeply, for the pain she's witnessed Esme and I go through since he came out; despite the fact that I've tried to explain to her that I am far from blameless. Alice will have none of it; she blames Edward entirely for the way he has dealt with things.

This year Esme finally stopped telling Alice when she tried contacting Edward, because of Alice's strong reactions each time. Esme would invariably get her hopes up that this would be the time she'd reach Edward, or that this time he'd call back. When it didn't happen, she would be sad and withdrawn for a couple of days. If Alice was home from college during those times, she would walk around cursing under her breath all the while Esme was upset. She never went on the offensive against her mother, of course – Edward was the target of her epithets – but it made it that much more difficult for Esme, just the same. Alice could never see that.

Sometimes it's difficult to feel like you're the lone calm, circumspect individual; in a house full of impassioned, temperamental people.

"Is Mom okay?" Alice finally asks.

"She seemed to be last night, dear," I reply. "It was emotional, of course; we were all emotional. She and Edward are still sleeping."

"So what's his problem?" Alice asks through gritted teeth.

"Alice," I chide gently. "I don't know yet what brought him here last night. He was extremely upset when he came; he couldn't speak. Your mother held him for an hour or so; and then I suggested we all go to bed and talk about it in the morning."

"Upset? Upset how – angry?" she clarifies.

"No," I shake my head. "He was crying, Alice; and it looked to me as though he'd been crying pretty hard for some time."

"Edward crying?" Alice whispers incredulously. "Well, that's something I didn't think I'd ever see." She's quiet for a moment and then adds, "Do you want me to come up today? I could see if I can get the day off…"

Alice is in her final year of the Bachelor of Social Work program at University of Washington Tacoma. She is doing a practicum at the local Child Services department and loving it completely "I appreciate the offer, dear; but I think it'd be best if Mom and I have the day to talk to him first, to find out what's happened," I suggest. "I don't want him to feel overwhelmed with all of us here."

"Okay," she says dubiously. "But call me if you need me."

"Of course, dear," I soothe.

"I'll be thinking about you, Dad," she adds."

"Thank you. Love you."

"Love you too. Bye," she finishes.

"Bye," I reply, and hang up the phone.

I turn to the coffeemaker, which has finished gurgling. As I pour myself a cup of black coffee, I hear Esme and Edward making their way down the stairs, talking quietly. I turn and lean with my back against the counter, waiting for them to join me in the kitchen. I see Esme first, and then Edward; she is holding his hand and gently leading him into the kitchen. Edward's eyes meet mine and I give him a small smile, wanting to make sure he realizes that he is welcome in our home. He returns it, though weakly, and sits down at the kitchen table.

I pour Esme a cup of coffee and add the cream for her. "Coffee, Edward?" I ask gently.

He nods. "Black, please," he says.

"I remember," I reply gently. This time he looks at me with a bit of surprise, and his smile is a bit wider, a bit more genuine. I set the coffee in front of him at the table, and then take a seat opposite Esme. We both shift slightly in our seats to look at Edward. For a while he stares into his coffee up, not making eye contact, and I have a chance to examine him more closely.

His bronze locks, the exact color of Esme's, are every bit as wild and uncontrollable as they ever were; though he keeps it a bit shorter now than he used to. His eyes are red-rimmed, making the green of the irises stand out, even more brilliant than I remember. His shoulders are broad and muscular, his arms long and lean, and his hands are graceful. His face is puffy from crying himself to sleep; despite this he is undeniably handsome, even more so than he was as a teenager. His features have matured – he's a man now.

I debate whether to break the ice by speaking first, or wait for him to speak. I look to Esme – her intuition about emotional matters is better than mine. She gives me a small smile, then turns back to Edward, patiently waiting. This is my answer; we wait.

Finally, in a raspy, quavering voice, Edward says, "Thank you for letting me stay last night."

Esme reaches out and places her hand on hers. "You are always welcome."

He meets her gaze and smiles wanly, then continues. "I'm sure you're wondering why I came here."

"Are you sick, Edward?" I ask, gently but firmly. This was my first coherent thought last night after Esme took Edward's hand and led him into the house, the first of many, many questions that came to me during the long, restless night.

"That's your first question? Why, because I'm gay?" he asks, a touch of bitterness darkening his tone.

Damn it – great bedside manner, Dr. Cullen. He thinks I'm automatically implying HIV. Honestly, I'm not. "It's my first question because I'm a doctor," I correct him, "and because two of my cousins were diagnosed with leukemia at around the age you are now."

He ponders this for a moment, and then seems to accept it. "I'm not sick." There is a long silence as he chooses his next words. Finally he continues, "You saw me with Jasper last week."

"We did," I nod. He knows this.

"Jasper and I were dating," he says carefully, looking at me from the corner of his eye to watch my reaction.

I say mildly, "We assumed that was the case when we saw you."

"I broke up with him that night," he informs us.

"Son, you know that I work at Northwestern Hospital now," I state. There's no point in pretending not to know that he is already aware of this.

"Jasper told me…that night," he grimaces.

"You should also know that I went to see Jasper in his office on Monday," I say carefully, waiting for the potential thunder.

His head whips toward me, and he eyes me carefully – what he's looking for, I can't say. He watches me for a moment and then says, "You did?"

"We were in shock, to say the least, after we saw you on Friday; and seeing you with Jasper was more surprising still. And then when you left so quickly…well, we wanted answers. We felt we deserved some answers, Edward," I explain.

"So you went and talked to Jasper," he says slowly.

"Well, I tried to," I continue. "But Jasper declined to discuss your relationship with me, other than to tell me that you'd broken up. He said he didn't want to betray you by discussing it without your knowledge, even though you were no longer together."

Edward puts his head in his hands and stares at the table top. His face is inscrutable for a few moments, but eventually one tear falls to the table, exploding on contact with the surface. "He is so much more than I deserve."

"Edward, what would ever make you say that?" asks Esme, speaking for the first time since we started our coffee.

"I'm so broken, Mother," he whispers, and he drops his arms to the table and rests his forehead on them. Esme and I both pull our chairs closer to him; I place my arm on his back while her hand goes to his impossibly messy hair. "I chased him away that night because I felt betrayed; because he was too close to you."

I wince. Too close to me – I already knew this was the case, but hearing him confirm it, still hurts. "So not only do you not want anything to do with your parents, but you don't want anything to do with anyone connected to us," I state in a monotone. If I keep my voice calm maybe my heart won't hurt so much.

Edward lifts his head to face me. "Dad…I've always told myself that I'll never apologize for being gay, because it's not something I chose, any more than I chose my green eyes. But…if you told me maybe you could forgive me…I would apologize. I'll still be gay…but please – do you think you can ever forgive me?"

I look at Esme in horror, and her face mirrors mine. Edward looks from me to Esme and back, mistaking our expressions. "If not, please just say so now, and I'll go…"

"Edward!" Esme cries. "How could you think being gay is something we'd need to forgive you for?"

Edward's face changes to a look of confusion. "Because you said…on the day I…when you found out, you said you were disappointed…betrayed…"

"Edward – we were never disappointed in you for being gay!" I correct him, perhaps a little too emphatically.

"Carlisle…" Esme murmurs my name warningly.

"Okay…we were surprised," I backtrack a bit, "and we…didn't handle the surprise all that well."

"We flipped our shit, honey," Esme says matter-of-factly, using one of Alice's expressions. Edward and I both stare at her – she's not one for salty language. She returns my stare and says, "Well, we did."

"Yes," I confirm; turning back to Edward, I continue. "But Edward, we were disappointed that you weren't honest with us. That you felt you needed to hide the truth. That you were more open with the people at school than with us. We felt we'd failed at something we'd thought we were doing well. We thought we had made it clear that you should come to us with anything that was bothering you; anything important to you is important to us."

"'Is important'? Present tense…?" Edward asks sharply, meeting my gaze.

"Absolutely," I nod emphatically. "Edward, we love you. So very much. You're our _son_." He turns to Esme and she nods as well, smiling and taking his hand in hers again.

"Edward, we have wanted nothing but for you to be a complete part of our lives, since the day we found out I was pregnant with you," Esme avers, tears in her eyes. Edward squeezes her hand and looks down again at his coffee, swallowing hard.

"I have a few things I need to say to you both," he says.

"We're listening," I reply softly.

"Despite the fact that you feel like you failed, I am the one who has done everything I could to keep you out of my lives since that day you found out. I couldn't bear the disappointment in your eyes; I couldn't stand to think about what a failure I was as your son. And I told myself that I would distance myself as much as possible from you both, so I'd never again feel the sting of your disappointment."

"Edward," I start to say, but he holds up a hand.

"Please let me finish," he asks, and I nod. "Jasper knew me in high school. He remembered when I came out, and he had a crush on me at that time. He waited all this time and came back to Seattle partly in hopes of finding me. And he did find me, and for two weeks, I was the happiest I've been in ten years." His voice cracks a bit, and he pauses for a moment before continuing. "Now I realize that, not only have I wasted ten years of my life alone, without my family or a single friend; but I've also cost myself the person who could have been the one I spent my life with…" His voice chokes here and a simple pause won't help him regain his composure.

"Oh, Edward," Esme whispers, her hand stroking his arm.

"I'm so sorry," he cries. "I'm sorry for all the times I wouldn't talk to you when I was in high school. I'm sorry for the arguments. I'm sorry I never came home for holidays or summers when I was in college. I'm sorry I didn't answer the phone when you called me. I got all your messages, Mother…"

"Shhh, honey," she soothes, "I know you did."

"You never gave up on me," he sobs.

"Of course not, Edward," she shakes her head. "A real mother never does."

For long moments we sit in silence as Edward breathes deeply, snuffling; trying to calm down again.

Finally, the question I've wondered since Friday night has to be asked. "Edward, do you love Jasper?" I ask gently.

"I love him," he whispers, "and I love you too; but I don't know how to love."

"Don't know how to love…?" Esme repeats, staring incredulously at him.

"I used to know," he continues vaguely, staring off out the kitchen window as he speaks, as though he didn't hear his mother. "I've forgotten how. I don't know how to be in a relationship with anyone. Not as a son, not as a friend, not as a lover..." Esme and I stare at each other across the table, and we both have tears in our eyes as he continues. "I want to remember. I want to learn. I want love," he finishes simply, and then he looks at his mother, and at me.

Edward has some serious issues that he needs to work through. Later today I will recommend that I speak to some of my colleagues about getting a referral to a good psychiatrist for him. I'm a realist, and I know our relationship can't be rebuilt in a day. But for now, I am proud of him for coming to us. I'm happy that he seems to want to be back in our lives. And I love him.

I'm not a religious man, but there is a Bible verse that I have loved since the day Edward was born. I haven't thought of it recently because the memory was too painful. Now, it returns to me.

 _This is my_ _beloved_ _Son_ , _in_ _whom I am well pleased_.

-o-


	22. Chapter 22

-o-

 _Jasper_

Sunday morning, I'm up early, as always. The sun isn't up yet, but the sky is completely cloudless. With the beginning of March, Seattle has been gifted with a mild spell. It beckons me to go out for a run instead of using the treadmill. After getting dressed, I grab my iPod and head out onto the open streets. My playlist includes my favorite songs, paced appropriately for running. Running through the streets of the Fremont district, I pass art galleries, ethnic restaurants and funky, colorful buildings. In truth, this neighborhood is a bit more bohemian than I can claim to be. When I was moving back from San Francisco, though, I knew I would miss the dynamic community I was leaving there. The vibrancy of the Fremont area drew me in, and now that I'm here, I already love it.

Dirty Vegas pounds in my ears, and the song reminds me of Edward.

 _You_

 _Are still a whisper on my lips_

 _A feeling in my fingertips_

 _It's pulling at my skin_

 _You_

 _Leave me when I'm at my worst_

 _Feeling as if I've been cursed_

 _Bitter cold within_

The Troll under the Fremont Bridge is one of my favorite pieces of scenery in the district, and I smirk at him as I pass. Jogging along North 34th Street, the sun peeks between the horizon and the underside of the Aurora Bridge.

 _Days go by and still I think of you_

 _Days when I couldn't live my life without you_

 _Without you_

I loop around and head west, back towards my building.

Back at my apartment building, I stand quietly for a few moments before I go inside, letting the sun soak into me and listening to my breathing and heart rate return to normal. My heart pangs as I recall that first Sunday morning, standing in the sun's warmth with Edward outside the diner. I recall his face, his eyes closed as he stood in adulation of the weak rays. I remember kissing him, deep and sweet; I think of him kissing the backs of my fingers as he told me he wanted to see me again. And I recall him running after me down the street to tell me he would be thinking of me while he was away, and thinking about the things I had told him, shown him.

 _All I did was tell you what I saw about you, Edward,_ I had said _. All of that was there already; I just tried to show it to you._ But I was wrong, I guess; because now I'm alone.

Shaking my head, I remind myself with a sigh that I'm trying to move on. Edward has made his choice. As much as it hurts my heart; as long as I know it will take me, I have to try. Feeling sorry for myself won't improve the situation.

Inside, I strip off my sweaty clothes and toss them into the hamper. I debate for a moment between a bath and a shower, finally deciding that a bath would make my muscles feel great. I have a few hours still before I have to be at Macrina to meet Kathleen and her friends – plenty of time for a bath.

No bubbles.

The steam rolls off the hot water that fills the tub. I step in, testing the water; and then sink gingerly down until the water is most of the way up my arms. I sigh deeply and relax into the soothing warmth. For a long time I lie with my eyes closed, feeling the tension seep from my muscles. I focus on deep breathing, and I try not to remember that last time I had took a bath in this tub, I wasn't alone.

But an experience like that is difficult to forget, especially since I haven't gotten myself off since Edward broke up with me. Over a week is a long time for a healthy young man to abstain; and, well, I _am_ trying to relax… _just go with the visuals…you need this…_

Hands squeezing a washcloth of hot water across my chest and shoulders…dragging the terry fabric over my nipples…the cloth swishing the water around my hardening cock…fingers stroking the underside of my shaft, teasing the frenulum and around the glans…then taking firm hold of my hard-on with one hand…tugging on my sac with the other…a smooth body with a hard prick behind me…sliding my ass up and down the length of that huge cock...arching…thrusting…so close...

"Augh!" I cry out as I come, my ass and thighs clenching tightly. My release is powerful, almost painful; and I shoot a huge load, each exquisite paroxysm sending another spate rushing out of me. For several moments my legs and my groin tremble, still holding tightly to the last waves of my climax. Finally, I take a deep breath, and let my body relax completely. Between the running, the hot water and the epic orgasm, I am almost weak.

And now I've got jizz in my bathwater.

I pull the plug and let the water go, finishing cleaning up under the shower spray. After toweling off, I walk to my closet and stand there for several moments, studying the clothes hanging from the rack. I finally decide on a pair of flat-front black slacks and a slim-fitting white pinstriped dress shirt, and lay them out on the bed. Back in the bathroom, I put some product in my hair so I don't end up looking like I've stuck my finger in a light socket. Damn curls…no such thing as wash-and-go.

Finally I am pressed, dressed and coiffed. I study my reflection in the mirror, from several angles. This shirt shows off my broad shoulders; and the pants make my ass look great. Not that I'm looking to meet anyone…but still. I'm going to be meeting new people, and I want to look good.

And my verdict is, I do. In fact, I think I look pretty fucking hot. Thank you for the genes, Mama and Dad.

I slip on my black wool jacket and grab my keys, then head downstairs. I'm driving to the restaurant – traffic will be light this morning, no reason to pay for a cab. I head across the Aurora Bridge, and since I'm running a bit early, I decide to take a drive through the neighborhood where I used to live. I pass Lake Union Prep, and it looks still just as austere as it did when I was a student there. A few blocks away is my old house, and I slow as I pass it. When I lived there, the shutters and trim were white, and the front door was red. Someone has painted the front door a sage green now, and the trim is a warm beige. It looks okay…different. It's definitely not my house anymore.

I know Carlisle and Esme's house isn't far from here – several streets over – but I manage to convince myself that passing it is unnecessary. I don't need to overindulge. Besides, my extra time is now used up and I should arrive at the restaurant at just the right time.

Indeed, I arrive at the front door of the restaurant just as Kathleen does, and she greets me with a warm smile and a big hug. "Hey, Jasper," she welcomes me enthusiastically. "Great to see you!"

"Hi, yourself," I return. "Thanks so much for inviting me."

"Wow," she says, winking, "look at you, all casual. You look hot!"

"Thanks!" I grin. "You look nice too!"

She rolls her eyes. "Fat lot of good it's doing me with you!" she chuckles. "Come on, let's get inside – there are some men in there who might actually appreciate a woman with a rockin' bod."

I am tremendously grateful for Kathleen – she is just so good-natured and genuine. Since my mother went back to Austin, Kathleen has done so much to help keep me from slipping into a funk over Edward.

Inside, she introduces me to her friends who have already assembled. Kathleen's best friends Eve, Liz and Rachel. Rachel has brought her friends Ashton and Jack. Eve's brother is there as well - Gareth and his wife Lily. Kathleen's face reddens a bit when she introduces me to Ashton, and I would lay money that this is the guy she's hoping to impress. And if my gaydar is at all accurate, I'm quite sure Jack is gay, and I'm betting Liz is too. Everyone is as pleasant and gracious as Kathleen is. I am seated between Kathleen and Gareth, and we soon settle into an easy conversation that includes everyone at the large round table.

Eve is Kathleen's oldest and dearest friend, as Kathleen told me earlier this week. They've been friends since kindergarten. She has long, straight-brown hair and blue eyes. She stands to shake my hand, and the top of her head comes no higher than my armpit – she is petite all over. Her eyes crinkle when she smiles at me, and she has an effervescent personality.

Rachel is Eve's polar opposite in almost every regard. She is tall and full-figured, with shoulder-length blonde hair and brown eyes. She seems much more reserved than either Kathleen or Eve; but she still gives me a shy, pleasant smile as we are introduced. Completing the quartet of close female friends is Liz. Liz is Asian, and closer to Eve's physical stature; her almond-shaped eyes are so dark that the iris is virtually indistinguishable from the pupil, giving her a rather striking look. She seems very laid-back and pleasant.

Gareth, Eve's brother, has the same long brown hair and blue eyes, though doesn't share her diminutive stature. He has a full beard, and looks as though he should be preaching on street corners or walking on water somewhere – the similarity is quite remarkable. He and his wife Lily are both professors at the University of Washington. Lily is African-American, and has a halo of soft ringlets held back from her face by a colorful scarf that encircles her head. She is sporting a burgeoning belly. Several times throughout the meal Gareth pauses to simply rest his large hand on her abdomen and gaze adoringly at her.

Finally, Ashton and Jack. Ashton has shaggy blonde hair and brown eyes; he looks like a California boy, and even manages to somehow be sporting a bit of a tan. I can very easily picture him with a surfboard under one arm. He seems quite shy, speaking very little. Jack has inky black hair; and his ice blue eyes snap in the middle of his pale, smooth face. His lips are almost rosy, and when he smiles, the corners of his mouth somehow seem to almost tuck in. He looks like a movie star from the old Hollywood glamour era.

Several times during lunch, I notice Kathleen lean to Ashton on her other side and speak softly just to him. Each time she does, she lays her hand on his arm. Still he says very little, but the rapture on his face each time she pays him that bit of attention, says it all. He is smitten. I notice Jack, across the table, observing their interactions as well; each time, he looks pensive, almost wistful. Several times he catches my eye after we've both been watching them, and quickly smiles at me; but the smile doesn't reach his eyes.

The chatter around the table continues long after we've finished our meal. Gareth and Lily are the first to leave, heading off to a ballet recital for Lily's niece. Rachel and Eve have convinced a reluctant Liz to go shopping with them, and they leave, Liz rolling her eyes at me before she says a good-natured goodbye. Kathleen and Ashton are absorbed in conversation with each other, though it seems rather one-sided, Kathleen doing most of the talking for both of them. Ashton seems content to listen to her, nodding and occasionally speaking in a quiet, even voice.

Jack and I exchange several glances. Finally, I stand up from the table, pulling my jacket off the back of the chair, which draws Kathleen's attention. "Heading off?" she asks.

I nod, and she jumps up to give me a hug. Jack and Ashton stand as well. "Did you have fun?" she whispers as she hugs me.

"Definitely," I whisper back. "Thank you."

"I'm so glad you could come," she says, loudly enough that Jack and Ashton can hear her, and we turn back to the two men standing beside the table. Jack is putting his coat on as well.

"You're going too, Jackie?" she asks.

"Yeah," he says. "Busy week ahead of me; gotta go home and get ready to tackle it."

"Good to meet you, Jasper," Ashton says, shaking my hand solemnly.

"I'll walk you out," Jack offers, inclining his head toward the door. After we all say our goodbyes, we head for the exit. I look over my shoulder before we leave. Ashton and Kathleen have resumed their places beside each other at the table, Kathleen launching back into whatever she was telling him before we got up.

Outside, Jack asks me where I'm parked, and when I tell him he says, "Me too. I'll walk with you." As we head toward the parking lot, he takes a deep breath and says, "I'm glad you got up to leave when you did – it gave me an excuse to do the same."

"Something wrong?" I ask.

"I couldn't sit there any longer," he answers vaguely.

"Because…" I prompt, and at first I am met with stony silence.

"I couldn't watch him make eyes at Kathleen anymore," he finally admits.

"You don't like Kathleen," I murmur.

"No, I love Kathleen. I'm sure she's perfect for him," he mutters; then under his breath he adds, "Anyone would be lucky to have him."

It takes me a moment to catch on to his choice of words. _Anyone_ – he didn't say any woman. Jack is in love with Ashton – his best friend – who is very definitely straight.

"Oh," is the best I can come up with; and then I tack on, "I'm sorry." This is why he looked wistful when watching Kathleen and Ashton chatting.

"Yeah," he nods.

"Well, I know how that feels – I mean, wanting someone who doesn't want you back," I sigh.

"Kathleen said you broke up with someone recently," he nods.

"We weren't together all that long," I concede, "but it was intense – I fell in love."

"He ended it?" he asks, and I nod. "Sorry," he answers gruffly, and we walk for a few moments in silence.

"Well, we're a rather depressing pair," I laugh humorlessly, to break the melancholy silence.

"Misery loves company," he grimaces.

"Maybe what we both need is to get out and have some fun – hit one of the clubs," I suggest.

"Like…dancing?" He screws up his face as though the thought is painful to him.

I can't help but chuckle at his less-than-enthusiastic response. "Some people find human interaction enjoyable. In fact, I may be one of them," I smile. I've reached my car, and I pause beside it. He stops as well.

"The clubs are always so crowded," he grouses. "And noisy. And guys are always hitting on me."

"Oh, woe is me! Cute boys think I'm hot!" I mock him gently, and he gives me a dirty look. "All things considered, Jack, there are worse problems to have."

He muses on this for a moment and finally concedes, grudgingly, "Yeah, I guess."

"So what do you say we go out one night this week? We can be there as moral support for each other," I suggest.

"Just as friends?" he hedges.

"Yeah," I confirm. "I'm not ready for a relationship. But I _would_ like a friend."

"Okay, I'll go with you," he sighs. "But I can't really do it before Friday – I work pretty long hours and I don't like to be out late during the week."

"No problem," I smile. "Friday works well for me."

We exchange numbers, each of us programming the other's number into our cell phones. Then we stand awkwardly for a moment, facing each other until I say, "Wanna hug it out?"

He finally grins at this, and we embrace in a "straight-guy hug" – quick, firm, thump on the back. When we pull back, I say, "I wish I could say maybe he'd come to his senses someday, Jack."

"I know," he nods. "I know it's a lost cause – I just need to convince myself to let go."

"Well, if you figure how, let me know," I grimace.

He rolls his eyes and turns in the direction of his car, calling over his shoulder, "I'll call you later this week."

I get in my car and start it up, waiting for it to warm up a bit and take the damp chill out of the air.

 _I think I just made a friend._

-o-

 _Edward_

Sunday morning I wake up in my own bed – that is to say, my adult bed, at my apartment. I stretch luxuriously, enjoying the fact that I'm in a very generous king, as opposed to the cramped twin I've slept in the previous two nights, in my old room at my parents' house. I rub my eyes and relax back into my pillow, thinking back over the past couple of days.

My father's look of shock to find me at the door; my mother flying down the stairs upon hearing my voice. Standing with her hand extended to me, her eyes bright, almost wild that I might decline the offer to come in. And then falling into her arms on the floor – ensconced in the glow of her presence, her love. Grieving for my stunted heart, for the time wasted. Knowing I was still welcome in her arms, drinking in the scent that always accompanies her presence. Hearing her verbally hand my father's ass to him in the hall outside the bedroom door, as she informed him she would remain with me. And then falling asleep with my head on her lap as she struggled, through a breaking voice, to sing a childish lullaby to me.

 _When I woke up on Friday morning, she still held me in her arms; and I smelled that familiar scent…warmth, love, and Youth Dew. I opened my eyes, and she was half-lying, half-sitting, against the headboard, smiling down at me. "Good morning, my darling," she whispered, her face radiant in spite of her obvious concern for my emotional state._

" _Good morning, Mother," I returned quietly, struggling to reflect some of her happiness back to her with a little smile. Despite the fact that I'd cried more in the last twelve hours than I did in the previous ten years, I didn't feel ashamed in front of my mother._

" _Did you manage to get some sleep?" she asked with concern._

" _I slept far better than I could have imagined I would," I admitted. "I don't suppose you were very comfortable, though, sitting up all night."_

 _She laughed softly, her eyes crinkling. "I didn't sleep a great deal, dear; but not because I was uncomfortable. I just couldn't take my eyes off of you. I know you're going through something, darling; and I'm very sorry for whatever has upset you so. But my heart is singing this morning, because my boy is home in my arms."_

 _I pulled my face back to her abdomen, hiding there as I used to do when I felt shy as a little boy. I remained there for a moment and then I pulled away a bit, propping myself on my elbow to address her. "I heard what you said to Dad last night. I hope he's not upset with me…"_

" _Don't you worry about that, Edward," she assured me. "He was feeling a bit out of his element and he wasn't thinking clearly; I just had to prioritize on his behalf." She paused and winked at me. "He's already downstairs making coffee. What do you say we go down and join him?"_

 _I nodded, still unsure, but knowing she would take my part if necessary. "I'm going to use my bathroom and then we'll go downstairs together," she said, rising from the bed and giving me a last smile before she left the room._

 _The conversation with them at the dining room table was an emotional fucking roller coaster. When he told me that Jasper refused to discuss our relationship with him, I had to hide my face from them, hoping they wouldn't see my tears. Jasper wouldn't tell him – we weren't even together anymore and he still wouldn't give it up to my dad. I was so completely wrong about him._

 _I went from heartbreak, to anger at my father's attempt to rewrite history when he started to deny that they had been upset by finding out I was gay. Fortunately my mother stepped in; I had to silently thank her for being the strong woman she is, calling my dad on his bullshit so I didn't have to battle that out on my own. A moment later I was in shock and on the verge of busting up in laughter at hearing my sweet, soft-spoken mother admit that she and Dad "flipped their shit." The look on my father's face was fucking priceless, too._

 _And then, finally, love and acceptance from both of them; hearing I was important to them and that they could accept me and we could start to rebuild our relationship, gave me hope. It made me realize that I never had to apologize for being gay; but I certainly needed to apologize for the things I'd done to them. Those apologies poured forth from me, like a torrent; their love broke the dam and I couldn't stem the flow. Trying to talk through my outburst left me out of breath; so we sat in silence for a few moments as I took some deep breaths to calm down. The people who love you don't give up on you. Jasper loves me…is it possible? Could he forgive the awful things I've said, the horrible, childish way I've acted?_

 _As though reading my mind, my father softly asked, "Edward, do you love Jasper?"_

 _I really do, I realized. "I love him." And I love my parents too, and I'd apologized but I hadn't told them I love them. "And I love you, too." So much. "But I don't know how to love." Because I'm cold and broken and frozen._

 _My mother murmured something, but I didn't hear what. I was looking out the window, to the backyard where I used to play as a child; when I was innocent and sure of myself and of my parents' love. When I was happy._

" _I used to know," I murmured, thinking about that time. "I've forgotten how. I don't know how to be in a relationship with anyone." I shook my head gently. "Not as a son, not as a friend, not as a lover..." In the backyard I could see a shadow of the happy child I was, echoing back through the years, reminding me that I used to have love in my life. These people brought love to my life. "I want to remember," I whispered. "I want to learn. I want love."_

 _I finally tore my eyes away from the window to gaze at my mother. Her cheeks were glistening. Looking at my father, his eyes, too, were filled with tears. It didn't escape me that he also cried the last time we had a serious conversation, ten years ago._

 _After Friday morning's chat with my parents, I returned to my apartment around midday on Friday to get some clothes, my laptop and my cell phone. My mother was reluctant for me to leave on Friday, perhaps worrying that I wouldn't come back if I left, so I suggested she come with me. She was impressed at the apartment and commented several times how neat I keep it. Though I had never before cared what someone thought of my place, hearing those words from her, knowing she approved of me, made me feel oddly proud; that maybe I wasn't a complete fuckup._

 _She walked along my bookcase, dragging her finger across the spines of the books as she looked at the titles. I wondered if she, too, noticed that I had no photos in my apartment._

 _After dinner that evening, my father spoke with me privately about seeing a therapist. I agreed, on the condition that we go together, the three of us. I asked whether Alice would go with us as well, and Dad looked very uncomfortable, mumbling something about not being able to speak for her. Honestly, I was looking forward to seeing her. We had gotten along better than most of my friends seemed to get along with their siblings, and I had missed Alice after I went to college._

 _When I expressed this to Dad, he sighed and replied, "Son, I don't want to be a wet blanket, but don't expect too much from Alice right away, okay?"_

" _What do you mean, 'expect too much'?" I asked, mystified._

" _She has very strong…opinions, we'll say…on what the state of our relationship has been since you left for college," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully._

" _Strong opinions?" I pressed._

 _Bringing his hand to his face, he pinched the bridge of his nose, a mannerism I recognized as something I do often._

" _Alice is angry, Edward," he began. "She has been here, observing your mother and I as we tried to get through your absence from our lives – particularly your mother, who as you know wears her emotions on her sleeve. Alice lays the blame squarely at your feet. We have tried to explain to her, numerous times, that no relationship breaks down solely because of one party; but you know Alice…"_

" _No," I disagree. "I guess I don't know Alice."_

It's true – I've barely seen or interacted with her since she was still a child. She's now a young woman, about to complete college and move into the real world. I have no idea who she is. I know she called a few times to speak to Mother and Dad while I was there on Saturday, but refused to speak to me.

I sigh, rolling onto my stomach and pulling open the bottom drawer of my night table. In a small frame is an old photo of Alice and me. It's Christmas morning, probably fifteen years ago. We are in our pajamas in front of the tree, surrounded by beautifully wrapped gifts. The radiant smiles on our faces portray the anticipation and excitement of what lies under the tree for us. I haven't looked at this photo since I unpacked it and put it into the drawer, the day I moved in here.

Sighing, I can't deny that I have work to do – even more than I realized. I knew my relationship with my parents was fucked up; and I haven't even begun to let myself think about what I need to do to make things right with Jasper, if he'll even let me. Now I have Alice to consider as well.

An idea occurs to me. Not a solution, but a step in the right direction. I don't have to go anywhere for a few days. I ended up passing on the Italy job, deciding that I shouldn't be heading out of the country for a week or longer right now. I have chosen instead to take the shorter job that was offered me in San Francisco. Wednesday afternoon I'll fly down there for a few days.

In the meantime, there's a personal project I'm going to tackle. And it starts with the photo I'm holding in my hand right now.

-o-


	23. Chapter 23

-o-

 _Jasper_

I spend Sunday evening reading, but my mind keeps wandering to the group of people I met today, and the dynamics between them. Foremost in my thoughts are Ashton, the man who has two people longing for him; and Jack, who like me is wishing for someone he can't have. I have a feeling that Jack is usually fun to be around, when he's not pining for Ashton. It must have been tremendously difficult for him to sit and watch Ashton and Kathleen's obvious attraction to each other. I can imagine how I'd feel if I had to watch Edward with a new love interest. The more I think about it, the more I think a night out might really do him some good. I know I definitely need it.

-o-

Monday morning I awaken to realize that I've had a good night's sleep, possibly the first since I met Edward; definitely the first since we broke up. I'm glad for it, because I have a meeting this afternoon with Carlisle Cullen and I want to be at the top of my game for it. Not because I anticipate that Carlisle will give me a hard time – far from it, in fact – but because I want to be strong. I don't want him to be sad for me; in fact, I don't want to discuss Edward at all. If I can draw on Jazz enough to be straightforward and professional, perhaps Carlisle will understand, without me having to tell him in so many words, that I'm not there to talk about his son.

At work, Kathleen gushes to me about Sunday's lunch, how much everyone loved me and that they want to get together again soon. I tease her a bit about Ashton, and her face flushes. Her eyes sparkle as she tells me what a wonderful conversation they had (mentally, I snicker a bit at the use of the word "conversation" – as if an almost-entirely one-sided dialogue could be considered as such). As I listen to her, I can't help but wonder if she realizes that Jack is in love with Ashton too. Not that there's anything she can do about it, of course. Ashton is who he is – a straight man. Eventually I give her a good-natured eviction from my office so I can get some work done.

My appointment is arranged for two o'clock in his office, and by the time I leave my office to head up to the floor that houses the department heads' offices, Jazz is reflected in my body language – the square of my shoulders, the uplift of my chin. But not on my face. I don't need to be austere – just candid and direct, with no superfluous chat about my personal life.

When I arrive at Carlisle's office, his receptionist greets me pleasantly; then asks me to take a seat for a few moments, as I am a bit early and Dr. Cullen is expecting an important call. I accept, and sit in one of one of the chairs outside Carlisle's office door, fiddling with the file folder in my hands as I wait.

After a few moments, the receptionist's phone rings. "Dr. Cullen's office, Gina speaking," she answers. "May I tell him your name?...He's waiting for your call, Edward. Just a moment, please."

My ears perk up at hearing the name I love, even when it belongs to someone else. I wonder whether, as time goes by, I'll ever again be able to hear his name without getting a rush of butterflies in my stomach, and a weird quivery feeling in my throat.

Very quickly, though, I am wishing the butterflies were all I felt. My stomach drops to the floor when Gina transfers the call to Carlisle. "Dr. Cullen?...It's your son on the line…You're welcome."

What the fuck? Edward is calling his father, and Carlisle knew it was coming? What the _fuck_ is going on? My heart immediately lurches in my chest and my hands begin to shake. I don't even know what I'm feeling…anger? Betrayal? Chagrin? Gina says something to me, but I have no idea what she's saying. I can't see straight – my head is spinning. There's no way I can face Carlisle – I have to get the fuck out of here.

I stand unsteadily, hoping I can get back to my office without throwing up. "I have to go," I stammer; and though Gina speaks to me again, her voice filled with alarm, I can't focus on her words. I'm fleeing, out the door, down the hall, stumbling towards the elevators. I am vaguely aware of hospital staff in the hallway, the concern on their faces visible to me despite the blurred distortion of my vision; like looking at the world through a coating of Vaseline. Their lips move but I have no idea what they're saying – the ringing in my ears blocks out all sounds except the screaming in my head.

I get to the bank of elevators and, miraculously, the doors open as soon as I push the button. The people exiting the elevator peer at me, their eyebrows raised, but I ignore them and hit the button for my floor, followed by the Door Close button. I grip the handrail that encircles the small space as the elevator lurches down towards the fourth floor. When the doors open I stagger out and down the hall to my office. When I'm a few steps away from the office door, Kathleen steps out into the hallway, her eyes wide with concern.

"Jasper?" she says, catching me in her arms. "Gina called me and said you just bolted out of her office. What's wrong? Are you sick?"

"I need to sit," I stammer.

"Come on," she urges, and keeping one arm around me, she guides me into the office, past her desk and into my own sanctuary where I collapse into my chair. "Jasper," she says. "Jasper? Come on, you're really worrying me. Do I need to call someone for you?"

"Give me a few minutes," I mumble, leaning my head against the high back of my chair, and putting my hand over my eyes. "I need to breathe."

Kathleen stays beside me, her fingers on my wrist as she takes my pulse. "Jasper, your heart is going a mile a minute." She waits a moment for an answer, and receiving none, she continues, "I really think I should call a doctor up here to check you out." She probably thinks I'm having a cardiac incident.

Again I mumble, "I need a few minutes." It's all I'm capable of saying at this point.

"You have five," she tells me firmly. "If your heart rate hasn't calmed down in that length of time, I am calling someone. No arguments."

I can only nod weakly. For a couple of minutes the office is silent. Kathleen continues to monitor my pulse with one hand; with the other she strokes my hair, probably in an attempt to help calm me. I try to breathe deeply, my pulse pounding in my ears as my heart races.

After a few moments Kathleen shifts, her hands leaving me. "Jasper, someone's at my desk. I'll be back in thirty seconds, no longer, I promise." She leaves my office, and I hear her say, "Dr. Cullen! Oh, thank goodness you're here. Something's terribly wrong with Jasper, I don't know what—"

The next thing I know, Carlisle Cullen is at my side. He, too, moves to take my pulse, placing his fingers at my throat instead of my wrist. "Jasper?" he asks, firm but kind.

"I'm okay," I whisper, and open my eyes. Carlisle is kneeling beside me, looking down at his watch as he times my heartbeat. "Carlisle…Edward…"

His eyes meet mine at the sound of his son's name, and I can see that he knows I heard the call transferred to him. It's almost certainly what brought him here.

"Kathleen," he says quietly, "I think he's okay. Gina told me what happened in my office, and I believe I know what's going on. He'll be fine," he assures her. "He and I need to have a chat. Can you give us a few moments?" he asks kindly.

"Are you sure?" asks Kathleen dubiously. "He seemed really bad off…"

"It's okay, Kathleen." I nod at her, and reach out to grasp her hand. "Thank you. I'm feeling a bit better now."

She squeezes my hand for a moment, and then, smoothing my hair back, she leans forward and places a kiss on my forehead. "Okay," she says softly. "I know you're in good hands. I'll be at my desk if you need me," she says, straightening up. She gives me a last smile before she adds, "Thank you, Dr. Cullen."

He smiles and nods at her, and she leaves. Carlisle gets up from his place beside me and softly closes the office door; then he comes back around to my side of the desk and leans back on the desk, watching me carefully. I meet his gaze, and his eyes are full of fatherly concern. For a few moments he says nothing; and I assume he is waiting until I've recovered a bit more.

Finally he asks, "How are you feeling?"

I raise one eyebrow at him, a trifle scornfully. "Just peach," I mutter. "Sorry, Carlisle. I know we had an appointment but I just don't think I can do it today."

"I didn't come because of the appointment," he responds contritely. "Gina told me you were there waiting for me, and seemed fine; and then suddenly bolted from the office looking like you'd seen a ghost. She was concerned that something was seriously wrong." He pauses, and heaves a long sigh. "I assume…you heard her transfer a call to me?"

Again I toss him a contemptuous look. "Don't toy with me, Carlisle," I grumble. "Edward called you. A call you were expecting." I decide to leave it at that; let Carlisle fill in the blanks.

"I'm sorry, Jasper," he says, "that you heard Gina transfer the call. I know it must have been a shock for you, and I'm very sorry that you had to hear that without the benefit of context."

"Context?" I all but spit at him.

"The context of what has happened in our lives – mine, Esme's and Edward's – in the past few days," he continues. "Jasper, on Thursday night, Edward came back to us."

"Came back…?" I repeat, bewildered.

"He showed up at our door," Carlisle says, in a voice so quiet it's almost a whisper. "He collapsed into his mother's arms and cried as though his heart was broken. He stayed with us that night and the next, and we talked, the three of us. We have our son back. You gave us our son back."

" _I_ gave you your son back?" I scoff.

"Absolutely," he nods fervently. "If it hadn't been for you, Jasper…you were the catalyst in Edward's life that made him realize he needed love in his life."

Laughing is probably the most inappropriate response to Carlisle's statement; but I can't help myself, chuckling bitterly. "Well, that's just great, Carlisle," I sneer. "I can't tell you how happy I am for all of you. It was all worth it – walking on eggshells around your son, the broken heart, all of it – just so I could nail myself to the cross for your sake."

He stands, and his eyes are full of the hurt my words have inflicted. "I know you're hurt, Jasper; and I don't blame you for feeling embittered by this." I roll my eyes and look out the window. "I have told you much more than Edward wanted you to know; but please believe me when I tell you that you are very important to him. To all of us. Esme and I know that we owe this to you; we'll never be able to thank you enough. If you ever need anything – anything – just ask."

What I truly want, Carlisle can't give me. So I reply, "What I need is to be alone. I know how important family is, Carlisle, and I'm sure at some point I'll be able to feel happiness for what your family has gained. But today I'm going to be selfish."

Carlisle nods, and reaches for my wrist, saying, "Let me check your heart rate again, and then I'll go."

"I don't think this is necessary," I mutter, but I let him do what he needs to do.

When he's finished he purses his lips and says, "It's still a bit elevated, but much better than it was. Take it easy for the rest of the day, okay?"

"Oh, you can count on it," I reply tersely, even as I feel a bit guilty for being rude to him; and I return my gaze to the window.

He lingers for a moment. From the corner of my eye I can see that he is looking at me, but I refuse to meet his gaze. I hear my office door open, then him speaking quietly to Kathleen, reassuring her that I am okay. She sounds unconvinced, but defers to him. He asks her to try to convince me to take the rest of the day off, and she agrees quickly, then bids him goodbye.

A moment later she stands beside me, and when I look up at her she is peering at me critically. "Jasper, do you have a health condition I should know about?" she asks directly. "Because if there's something I need to watch for, you should tell me."

Is a broken heart a health condition? "No, Kathleen," I reply, "no health condition." I don't even know how to explain away what happened, without telling her the truth; or at least enough that she'll understand. "The guy I was seeing…he's Dr. Cullen's son."

Her jaw drops. "He has a son?"

"They were estranged for a while," I reply, keeping to a minimum of details. "They're not any longer. I got some surprising news about Edward when I was in Dr. Cullen's office, and I didn't react well."

She looks diffident. "Is he okay? I mean, he didn't get hurt or something, did he?"

"No, he's fine," I reply, looking back to the window. "They're all fine."

"Okay," she replies hesitantly; then when she realizes I'm not going to elaborate further, she moves on. "Dr. Cullen says you should go home for the rest of the day, and I agree. There's nothing on your schedule for the rest of the day – just go home and chill. Your brother-in-law is coming to stay with you tonight, right?"

"Yeah," I reply, checking my watch. "He'll be at my place by six or so."

"Go ahead, then," she urges, "and relax for a bit before he gets there."

Slowly I nod my head. There's no way I'll get anything else done here today; and it would be nice to have some repose before Emmett arrives. "Okay," I concede. "You're right."

"Are you okay to drive?" she wonders. "Should I call a cab?"

"No, no," I scoff. "I'm fine now."

"Hmm," she eyes me critically. I guess I pass her inspection because she relents. "Okay."

"What would I do without you, Kathleen?" I wonder aloud, attempting to give her a smile.

"Your life would be too quiet, for starters," she says with a snort, and stalks back to her desk. Mentally, I agree; but I opt – wisely, I think – not to voice my agreement.

I gather up my things from my desk and bid Kathleen goodbye, thanking her again for looking after me today. Driving home, I think ahead to this evening. Having Emmett stay will be good for me. No one can stay in a bad mood when Emmett is around.

-o-

 _Edward_

 _3 x 5_

 _8 x 10_

 _4 x 6_

 _Two copies_

Monday evening, I sit on the floor of my living room, surrounded by photographs. Anyone watching me would think I was in the midst of an uncontrolled mess; but I have sorted the photos according to the year they were taken, more or less. I am going through them now, deciding which I want to frame, which I want to make more copies of, and which will go back into the photo albums I've ransacked. As I decide, I add notes to the list I have going, the one that will tell me how many frames I need and in which sizes; and I place post-it notes on the backs of the photos I've set aside for framing.

It's a slow process, as I haven't looked at many of these photographs in years. Each one is tied to a memory, most of which I have striven to avoid thinking about, for a long time. Now, however, I hold each one individually, letting the memories find me. Alice and me with my maternal grandparents, who both passed away before I turned ten…I wonder how well Alice remembers them. My middle school graduation…my parents and I all wearing huge smiles. The four of us at the cabin we used to rent every summer up in the Olympic Mountains…Alice and I each with the sticky-sweet white remains of toasted marshmallow on our faces.

I am startled out of my reveries by a sudden beep. It takes me a minute to realize it's the building security intercom – someone is buzzing me from the front door. It happens so seldom that I've almost forgotten the sound. I flick my TV on and flip to the station that shows me the image from the closed-circuit camera that monitors the front door. Standing outside the front door is a pretty young woman. I haven't seen her in a long time, but I would know her anywhere.

Alice.

I dash to the door, though she buzzes again before I reach the intercom pad. Without asking her to identify herself, I push the button that unlocks the door, then I pull open my apartment door and listen. She is taking the stairs instead of the elevator, and I hear her light step as she sprints up them. As opposed to a traditional enclosed stairwell you would find in a regular apartment building, this building, an industrial conversion, has a large, wide staircase that is open from top to bottom. It opens into my hallway directly in front of my apartment door, and I see Alice as she rounds the landing below to begin her ascent of the final flight of stairs. She sees me standing in my doorway, and slows; her eyes locking with mine, she takes one step at a time, slowly ascending toward where I wait.

Finally, she stands opposite me, silently regarding me. I do the same, looking her over, trying to believe that this woman is the little girl I left behind when I went to college. Her hair, which used to be long, is now cut in a short, straight style just below her chin. The color is the same, reddish-brown, darker than mine. Having two parents with green eyes has ensured that Alice and I both have them; but hers are rounder, more like Mother's. She's slim; and taller than I would have anticipated, for being so petite as a girl – probably about 5'7".

All this I take in before she finally opens her mouth. "You always buzz people into your building without asking who's there?" Her voice surprises me with its maturity; she's not a little girl anymore.

"Hello to you too, Alice," I reply with a smile, so she knows I'm teasing.

"Hello, Edward," she replies. "It's not very safe to let strangers into a secure building."

"You're not a stranger," I say, at which she lifts one shaped eyebrow. I choose to ignore it, and continue, "Besides, I knew it was you, Squirt."

Alice makes a face at the name I used to call her as a child. "So are you going to invite me in, or what?"

"I'm thinking about it," I pretend to hesitate, then I smile and step back into my apartment, holding my arm out to invite her in.

She strolls past me and heads straight to my living room as I close the door behind her. She stands in the middle of the large, open space, looking around at the floor-to-ceiling windows, my bookshelves, and my furniture; then the television, still showing the camera image from the front door, catches her eye. "That's how you knew it was me," she remarks, her voice impassive. Finally she stands in front of the photos spread on the floor, looking silently down at them.

I try to break the ice. "I'm surprised you came to see me, Alice," I begin. She scowls at me. "I'm glad," I hastily add, "just surprised. Since you wouldn't talk to me when I was at Mother and Dad's last week…"

"I wasn't ready. I still don't know if I am; but I can only deny my curiosity for so long," she mutters.

"Okay," I allow. It's certainly not a ringing endorsement; and I decide I should probably let her lead this conversation. I return to my spot on the floor amidst all the photographs, figuring she will join me if she wants to.

"What are you doing with all these pictures?" she asks, looking down at them again.

"Some of them are going into frames," I reply. "See this list? It's a running tabulation of the frame sizes I'll need. These ones," I indicate a pile of older, square-style photographs with rounded corners, "are ones that need some restoration. I have a colleague who does restoration work. And these," pointing to another stack, "I want copies made. I don't know if Mother and Dad have these ones or if I have the only copies; I thought they might like to have some. There are some of Grandma and Grandpa in here."

Alice sits down on the sofa, the front of which I am leaning against. She leans down to scrutinize the photo I have in my hand – it's her and me with our grandparents. Alice looks to be about three, which puts me at around seven or eight. We are wearing dressy clothes – Alice a soft pastel print dress; me, beige pants with a tie and sweater-vest – and each of us clutches an Easter basket. Our grandparents stand with us, and we clutch their hands and squint into the bright Easter morning sunlight. I am sporting a gap-toothed grin, thanks to the loss of several baby teeth. I remember this Easter well – the last one we spent with my grandparents before they both became ill.

As though reading my mind, Alice says, "I remember that; it's the only Easter I remember with them."

I nod. "It was the last one before they got sick," I agree.

Another moment of silence passes before Alice speaks again. "We looked happy."

"We _were_ happy," I offer candidly; and then we lapse into silence again. Alice slides down off the couch to sit next to me on the floor, and picks up a large manila envelope. It's the one I haven't yet had the courage to go through.

"What are these ones?" she asks.

"You can look," is my reply. She pulls out the stack of photos and starts flipping slowly through them. These ones aren't from twenty years ago; and they're not pictures of our grandparents. In fact, the subject isn't family at all.

"He's the one?" she asks simply as she looks through them, and I nod, staring straight ahead. "This one is really good," she murmurs as she pauses at one. Her comment forces me to look over to see which one she's referring to. It's a copy of my favorite Jasper picture, the one I gave to him. He is in walking in Canal Park, and while everything around him is black and white, he is in beautiful color. "Is this your work?"

I nod silently, and she continues, "They're all good, but this one…look at the way the light plays off the water, even in the black and white. Did you take this with a dSLR?"

"You're into photography?" I ask with surprise.

"Just as a hobby," she replies. "I took a couple of courses last summer." She continues to look through the stack, and pauses again at a photo of Jasper that has several deep scratches on the print. "What happened here?" she asks curiously.

I struggle for a moment, deciding how best to answer; and settle on a modified version of the truth. "I dropped it."

She looks dubious. "From where, the Space Needle?"

"I…dropped it with force," I amend.

"You threw it, you mean," she states, eyeing me critically.

"Yeah," I concede.

"Why?" she presses. Nosy thing.

"It was when we were breaking up," I sigh. "I don't really want to talk about it, Alice."

"Surprise, surprise," she mutters, and returns her attention to the stack of photos.

"What does that mean?" I ask, though I have a feeling we're entering dangerous territory.

"You never want to talk about it, Edward," she rolls her eyes.

"I tried to talk to you this weekend – you were the one who refused to talk to me!" I sputter.

"Yeah, how did that feel?" she asks pointedly. "After your whole dramatic coming-out, almost the only thing I remember you saying in a calm voice was, 'I don't want to talk about it'."

"You were _punishing_ me for something I used to say ten years ago?" I ask in disbelief.

"For something you've said for the whole of the last ten years, Edward," she snaps. "Even when you didn't say it in words – usually because you refused to talk to us. The intent was always there. We weren't the ones you chose."

"It was never about you, Alice," I reply, chastened.

"I was just a by-product," she grimaces. "That makes me feel so much better."

"Did Dad talk to you about family counseling?" I ask hesitantly, avoiding mentally tabulating the list of people to whom I need to make amends.

"Yes, he did; and no, I'm not going," she says matter-of-factly.

My face falls. "May I ask why not?"

"We don't _have_ a relationship to counsel, Edward," she points out. "Two strangers don't start off a friendship by going to counseling."

"I suppose you're right; although two strangers don't have the baggage we have," I remind her.

"Yeah," she replies pensively. "Still - I think we could manage this on our own."

"Manage what?" I ask, suddenly hopeful.

"You and I – we don't need a counselor," she says. "I think we can get to know each other without one – people do it all the time. And the baggage…we can talk about it ourselves."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah; but you're not allowed to say you don't want to talk about it," she warns.

"Um…that's a bit much to ask for, Alice," I hedge.

"Fine – you get…" she screws up her face as she thinks, "two vetoes per conversation."

"Hmm," I pretend to hesitate, then flash an exaggerated roll of my eyes in her direction. "I _guess_ that'll have to do…"

"Those are my terms," she says unflinchingly.

"Jeez, Squirt, I think you missed your calling," I grouse. "You should have been a litigator."

"If you ever need an agent, I could moonlight," she offers. "Even if it is for a beanpole like you."

This time it's my turn to wince as she uses _my_ childhood nickname. I elbow her gently in the ribs, and in return she lurches her upper body into mine. We return to looking at the pictures – of Jasper, of our family; and a guarded truce descends upon us. We chat, mostly about superficial things; but occasionally Alice slips in a deeper question for me, and I find I'm not tempted to use my veto power even once.

By the time she leaves, we have tentative plans to have dinner on Sunday after I return from San Francisco. She hesitates in the door, eyeing me for a second, then in a flash she throws her arms around me and hugs me close. "I missed you, you big stupid beanpole," she says brusquely.

"I missed you too, Squirt," I whisper into her hair.

"Don't you ever pull shit like that again," she warns as she pulls away. "Or I'll make you describe in detail, the time you walked in on Mother and Dad getting it on in the shower."

With a mild shudder, I hold up both hands in front of me, palms towards her in surrender.

"Veto."

-o-


	24. Chapter 24

_Jasper_

He's my height, but weighs about fifty pounds more; and every ounce of that fifty pounds is solid muscle. His dark hair is cut close, but still betrays the tendency to curl if it's allowed to grow out at all. His eyes are dark brown, and not being able to distinguish between his iris and pupil gives them a slightly wild look. All in all, he cuts a rather intimidating silhouette.

Until his eyes crinkle into a smile, deep dimples pitting his cheeks; and then my brother-in-law Emmett McCarty is about as scary as your average Build-a-Bear. Hugging him is much like hugging a stuffed animal as well, except I've never hugged a toy that lifted me off the floor.

"Jay!" he enthuses as he squeezes the breath from my lungs. "Good to see you, dude!"

"You too, Em," I gasp. "You're going to break my ribs…"

"Hehe, sorry," he grins, and my feet return to solid ground. I stand aside and he steps past me into my apartment. "Hey, thanks for putting me up while I'm here!"

"Of course," I smile, twisting my torso a bit, pretending to check for rib fractures. He rolls his eyes, and I take his coat from him and hang it in the closet. "I'm really glad you're here, Em."

"I'll bet," he says, his twinkling eyes becoming more serious. "You've had a rough go of things the last little bit, huh?"

"That's an understatement," I reply, shutting my eyes against the memory of this afternoon's conversation with Carlisle.

"Well, I'm here now," he pats my shoulder, teasingly condescending. "We can paint our toenails and braid each other's hair, and then we'll share a pint of Ben & Jerry's."

I give him a playful shove. "Huh – guess since Rosie doesn't have any daughters she had to turn you into a girl!"

"Ohhh…" His eyes narrow and he drops into a wrestling crouch. "You think you can take me, Slim?"

"No," I concede. "One whiff of those feet and I'd be out cold. Jesus, Em, you're killing my appetite."

He straightens up and rolls his eyes. "Yeah, sorry about that; it's been a long day. Maybe I should shower before dinner."

"Sounds good," I nod. "Come on, I'll show you the den, where the spare bed is; and then you can hit the shower."

The banter continues over dinner; and then – because Emmett doesn't joke about ice cream – we do split a pint of Chubby Hubby. Emmett, in his non-threatening way, draws me out about Edward; and I know his real concern is how I'm handling things. I manage to allay his concerns, knowing that the contents of our conversation will be relayed to Rosie, and then to my parents. When I'm ready to change the subject, I get him talking about the boys.

His face lights up as he describes Brandon's latest kinder-gym accomplishments, and how Gabriel knows all the primary and secondary colors by sight. Something I love about Emmett is that, although he teases and jokes around, he knows when to be serious, when not to push; it's very easy to be with him.

Chat about family, work and life in general consumes the rest of our evening; and pretty soon Emmett is yawning, having had a very long day of travel and meetings. He'll have more meetings tomorrow; and then we're going to meet back here to grab Thai food at a little place I've found nearby, before Em catches a late flight back to San Diego.

Lying in bed, my mind replays my conversation with Carlisle this afternoon. Edward has reconciled with his parents. Carlisle and Esme have their son back, for which they must be ecstatic. Edward has a family again – I suppose I don't have to worry any longer about his damage consuming him. I should be happy for him – for all of them; it's everything I wanted for him.

Except it's not. Because I also wanted _me_ for him. I never dreamed that in order for me to help effect this change, I'd need to be the sacrificial lamb. I wanted Edward to be whole again; now it's happening – without me. It feels like he's rejecting me all over again. Of course he should seek out his parents; but does it have to be either them or me?

 _Why not me, too?_

Sleep doesn't come easily; and when I finally do drift off, my dreams disturb me. I dream that I am standing in a large, non-descript room. I know Edward is in the room as well, but I can't see him because we're separated by a large, tri-fold screen. He doesn't talk to me; instead he speaks to Carlisle, and Carlisle relays a message to me from Edward. Then when I give Carlisle a message to take to Edward, I hear Carlisle tell Edward the wrong thing – he's not listening to me and he's not representing me accurately to Edward. All I want is to talk to Edward and have him listen to me.

 _Please just listen to me._

 _Edward_

After Alice leaves my apartment, I work late into the night. Her pulling the Jasper pictures out of the folder has ripped the Band-Aid off the wound; I might as well finish what has already been started. I continue looking through them – the shots of the two of us that I had worked into a single collage; me sitting on a bench along the Canal; my beautiful Kas, with his angelic curls framing his face as he paces the sidewalk beside the water. The pictures of him are all so beautiful, it's difficult to narrow it down; but before two a.m. when I finally drag my ass to bed, I manage to bring the selection down to seven that I absolutely can't live without seeing every day.

The next morning, I'm woken by my telephone ringing shortly before ten a.m. I consider ignoring it, but figure it's time for me to be up anyways. When I answer, my father says, "Up and at 'em, son, the day's half over!"

I chuckle hoarsely, remembering my grandfather's favorite means of rousing us when we stayed over at their house. Of course, my grandfather would say that at seven in the morning; at least in this case, my father is correct.

"Morning, Dad," I reply.

"The life of the self-employed," he sighs. "I tried to get a gig like that, but hospital boards of directors tend to shy away from a freelance chief of staff."

I'm half-asleep, but even in my addled state, I know that when my father makes a bad joke, he's nervous or uncomfortable about something. "Is something wrong, Dad?"

"Well…" he hesitates.

"Is Mother okay?" I ask.

"Oh yes, she's fine," he quickly reassures me. "Something happened yesterday, son, and I need to tell you about it. I'm concerned that you're going to be upset with me, though."

"Okay…" I reply hesitantly, with no idea what to expect.

"I had a meeting scheduled yesterday at the hospital with Jasper," he begins nervously. "He came for the appointment a bit before the time we had scheduled," he goes on, "at about ten to two or so. It was when I was expecting your call...and, well, you called a bit later than you'd said you were going to..."

Instantly I am sitting bolt upright. "What happened, Dad?" I ask him directly. This is getting painful.

He sighs and goes for the direct route as well. "He was sitting there when you called, and he heard Gina transfer the call to me. When she transferred the call, she told me it was my son on the line."

"Shit," I curse, not caring whether my father wants to scold my choice of language. "What did he say?"

"When I hung up from speaking to you, Gina came in and told me he'd been there for the appointment but left in a hurry. She was worried – she said he'd suddenly gone white as a sheet, and just left without an explanation. She didn't know, of course, about you and him. She called his assistant to let her know that she didn't think he was feeling well."

My hand covers my eyes as I picture Jasper's face. "So you didn't talk to him?"

"I went to his office," he continues. "His assistant was very concerned about him too; it seems he went into a full-blown panic attack."

"Oh my god," I whisper, my heart constricting at the thought of Jasper in pain. "Was he okay?"

"I stayed and talked with him for a while," he says. "He calmed down eventually; I suggested he head home for the day."

"You talked to him…" I croak. "What did you say?"

"That's why I'm calling," he says. "He heard it all, Edward; I couldn't just leave him to suffer that…I had to give him _some_ context around why you were calling."

"Jesus…" I sputter. "Did you tell him about family counseling?"

"No, no," he assures me. "That will be up to you to tell him, when and if you…well, whenever. I did tell him that you had come home, though; that it was his impact on your life that made you change your mind about having a relationship with us. He gave us our son back. I had to thank him for that." I don't answer – I know it's true, and yet it's still difficult to hear it, how much my parents and I owe to Jasper, the man I treated so badly. "Edward…I'm sorry this happened. I hope you understand that I had to tell him _something_."

Ignoring his plea, I murmur, "So…what did he say?"

-o-

Late Tuesday afternoon, I leave my apartment and head north over the canal, to Fremont. I have been in an agony with worry about Jasper since I awoke to my father's call. Jasper is upset – from his conversation with Dad, he feels that my reconciliation with my parents happened at his own expense. The last words I spoke to him were so hateful, so awful. I can't wait another day to tell him the truth about how much I really care. I want to be with him – only him – for the rest of my life.

I have to see him – a phone call won't do. He loved me before, and that was after he found out just how damaged I am. Even if he doesn't love me now, even if he doesn't want to try again, I can't wait one more day to apologize for the horrible words I said, and to tell him the truth: I love him.

So I trek out into the rain, rehearsing in my head what I'm going to say when I see him. I've tried to time my arrival for shortly after he gets home from work, so he's not in the middle of dinner but hasn't just walked in the door.

My knees tremble as I push the button for his intercom, the tone echoing loudly in the empty space between the two sets of doors. After a moment's pause, his beautiful voice comes through the intercom. "Yes?" he says.

"Jasper…it's Edward," I reply hesitantly. "I was wondering if we could talk."

After an interminable wait, the automatic door lock buzzes, signaling the release of the lock. I grab the door and yank it open, then stride to the elevator and jab the button several times. Before long the door opens and I step in and push the button for Jasper's floor.

I step out into the hall and as I make my way to Jasper's door, I hear hushed voices having what seems to be an animated discussion inside his apartment. I stand for a moment outside the door and strain to hear. I only catch a few words, not enough to have any sense of what they're saying or even who is with him. Finally, I raise my hand and knock on his door.

The door opens, and for a moment I wonder if I knocked on the wrong door. Standing in front of me is a huge, intimidating man – he is a couple of inches taller than I am, and built like a Mack fucking truck. He has black hair and very dark eyes, and he has a carry-on bag over his shoulder. Vaguely it occurs to me that he looks like a bouncer; but this thought quickly vanishes when I realize that, beyond this brute, stands Jasper…or rather, Jazz. He is drawn up to his full height, his chin proudly held up, his eyes narrow. His face looks like a blank mask, but I know him well enough now to see past the façade, to recognize the hurt in his eyes.

The stalwart man who stands between us steps wordlessly to the side to allow me to enter; but I look at Jasper, silently asking his permission. He lifts one eyebrow, then his eyes drop to the side and he gives a barely perceptible nod, granting his assent. I step in, past the "door staff" and into the living room. "Wait here a minute," mutters Jasper tonelessly. He and the other man step into the hallway; and from where I stand I can see them. They are again in what appears to be an animated but nearly-silent conversation; I am stymied to make out what they're saying.

While I wait, I try not to stare at them; I do steal a few surreptitious glances. Every time I look at the man he looks familiar to me, yet I can't place him. I would definitely remember someone that size if he went to Spin. _Maybe he goes to one of the other clubs?_ The conversation appears to end, and Jasper embraces the man, kissing him on the cheek; then my heart stops as Jasper says three little words.

"I love you."

The man returns the sentiment, and then, after giving me a final appraising look, disappears from my view as he strides down the hall. Jasper stands watching him for a moment, then sighs, turns and re-enters his front hall, closing the apartment door behind him. Slowly, wordlessly, he comes to stand about five feet from where I wait. Jasper is even more beautiful than my memory gave him credit for – his blonde curls framing his face, his limpid green eyes gazing back at me. His lips are as delicate and soft-looking as ever, but they are devoid of the broad smile I love so much – not a dimple in sight. We stare at each other in silence for a moment, and then I clear my throat and begin.

"I interrupted your plans."

"Yes," he replies coldly.

"I'm sorry for that," I return quietly. "Your date doesn't have to go; I could come back another time…"

"My _brother-in-law,_ " he says pointedly, "does have to go. He has a plane to catch."

"Oh," I reply lamely, not knowing what else to say, and silence takes hold once more. This time he is the one to break it.

"Why are you here, Edward?" he asks guardedly, but there is a glimmer of vulnerability in his tone.

"My father told me he spoke to you yesterday," I reply carefully, "and I've been worried about you since he told me about the conversation."

He looks scornful and cocks one eyebrow at me. "You were worried about _me_?" he repeats flatly.

I nod. "Because you were so upset by it."

"I'm glad you got your family back, Edward," he sighs. "I'm not upset about that. But it was a shock to find out that you had reconciled with them, after you dumped me" –I wince at this—"for having a relationship with them. A very superficial relationship, at that."

"I know how hypocritical that sounds." He shoots me a deprecating glance. "Okay, it _is_ hypocritical. I feel horrible that you were hurt. I'm really sorry you found out the way you did, Jasper. I was going to tell you myself, but I wasn't ready…"

He barks a humorless laugh. "'I was going to tell you'. Where have I heard that before?"

Point taken. "I know," I concede. "There were some things that I wanted to tell you the night we…well, when we went to dinner that night, I was going to tell you how I felt about you." I swear I see a flicker of something in his eyes - hope? Interest? I can't tell.

He asks slowly, "How you felt?"

"Well, more accurately," I correct myself, "how I feel."

He looks at me searchingly, and when he speaks his words are guarded and deliberate. "And how do you feel?"

I take a deep breath and hurl myself from the precipice. "Jasper, since you came into my life, I've changed in ways I could never have imagined. You taught me so much in a short period of time. You helped me realize that I could bottom without feeling ashamed – that it was a gift I could give to someone who was worthy to receive it. When we were together and I thought about you, it was like someone was blowing a balloon up inside my chest – it forced against my insides, pushing until I thought I would burst from it. All the time, though, I thought that balloon was empty – that it would deflate or burst and be left in shreds, nothing of substance remaining. I was wrong – it was full of…it was full of your love, Jasper. It filled me up, and I was the one who threw that away." I pause for breath and to collect my thoughts before I continue. "I kissed you with my eyes closed." He looks confused at this, so I explain. "Before you, I had never, ever kissed anyone with my eyes closed; it made me feel too…vulnerable…I don't know. Unprotected. But with you, I closed my eyes – not the first day; but that weekend we spent here…" I gesture at the space around me "…right here in this apartment…it made me feel so safe with you that I fucking closed my eyes. And then…I started thinking how much I'd love to be here waiting for you when you got home from work at night, and how if I had to go away, I'd want you waiting for me…"

He is starting to look overwhelmed, and I stop, waiting to let him absorb some of what I have said. He wanders aimlessly around his living room a bit, as I stand in one place, watching him. Eventually he turns slowly to me and says, "But that night…when you saw me with your parents…"

"Yeah," I swallow hard, remembering my horrible behavior. "Jasper, I was so shocked to see you talking to them. It was like being punched in the stomach."

"I tried to explain," he says…

"I know. I wouldn't listen." I blanch as I remember my reaction. "My behavior that night – the things I did and said – it was inexcusable."

"You fucking broke my heart," he says in a near-whisper, his voice breaking on the last word.

"I know," I whisper in reply. Tears come to my eyes as I realize afresh the pain I brought to this beautiful creature. "I'm sorry."

"You're…crying?" he asks incredulously. I don't answer, and for a moment the only sound is my occasional sniffle.

"I have done a lot of crying in the past few days," I reply when I am able. "I've brought so much pain, to so many people. You, my parents, my sister…in a thousand lifetimes I couldn't make up for it. And then last week when you called me – I was awful to you again…" He doesn't answer but the look in his eyes shows he certainly doesn't disagree. "And you were so irenic, just trying to apologize and I wouldn't let you. Like I was raised by wolves or something – like no one taught me manners. But it was that night, Jasper; that night, something so simple happened to make me remember all the things we had said and done…I had tried so hard to forget it all and pretend it wasn't there. But I couldn't ignore it anymore."

"Ignore what?"

"All the things I'd wanted to say to you that night at dinner – I remembered them all, even though I worked so hard at" – _fucking you out of my mind –_ "pretending they weren't there. But that one mundane thing blew the doors off the vault; and I broke down. And I knew."

"What?" he whispers, as though he's afraid to hear the answer. "What did you know?"

I step closer to him and he leans away from me, ever so slightly; but I look him directly in the eyes and breathe, "That I love you."

He sucks in a sharp breath. "Don't say that…," he says, shaking his head slowly.

"I would never say it if I didn't mean it," I promise. "But I do mean it – I love you, Jasper; so deeply."

He holds one hand out in front of him, palm towards me, as though ready to push me away if I step closer. "Edward…don't do this to me, please…," he pleads softly.

I move on. "But even though I realized I love you, I also became painfully aware that I am completely undeserving of you, that I don't even know how to be in love. And I had to go to where I could learn again – where I learned the first time."

He nods slowly in understanding. "Your parents."

"Yeah," I confirm. "They welcomed me home with open arms, my mother especially. And the next day we talked, the three of us. They know everything, Jasper; they know all about you and me. And you were right about my father – I never should have doubted you. He didn't hate that I was gay; all the shit that went down when I came out…but I guess you don't know what happened. He says you wouldn't let him tell you about it."

"No," he shakes his head. "Talking to him about something that you hadn't shared with me…it felt like I would be disloyal to you by doing it."

"After we had broken up," I continue, "you were protecting my privacy. Still."

"Of course I was," he says a bit defensively. "I mean, the relationship with your parents was the whole reason you ended it, right? I still hoped then, that maybe you would, you know…"

"Pull my head out of my ass," I offer.

"After some time and perspective; yeah, I hoped you would," he agrees. "And I knew that talking about you behind your back wouldn't help my cause in that respect."

"I should have known that you would never betray my privacy." I grit my teeth at my own stupidity. "Thank you for protecting me." He simply nods. "There's something else I need to tell you…"

He grimaces. "I don't know how much more I can handle."

"This is important," I insist gently. He gazes at me for a moment and then nods, inviting me to continue.

I swallow hard. This is the hardest part – being honest with him about fucking other guys. Even though I didn't let them fuck me, even I am not so clueless as to assume that Jasper will say it's all okay because I didn't bottom. The truth is that, not 30 hours after we broke up, I was back at my place fucking someone else. I loathe myself for it – how can I blame him if he loathes me for it too?

"Can we sit?" I ask.

"You go ahead," he says, now wary. "I'll stand." I remain standing with him, and begin my awful confession.

"You know I went to Chicago, right? The Tuesday after we...after that weekend."

"Yes, I knew," he says, still cautious.

I continue, "When I was in Chicago, I went to a club. And actually, before that I went to Spin; the night after we broke up. And I was there again last Wednesday night when I got back from Chicago."

"Okay," he says slowly, not yet comprehending what I mean – that me going to a club adds up to more than just dancing. I need to be explicit.

"I…I picked up a guy, each of those three times," I whisper, barely audible, loathe to admit it even to myself.

"Oh…," he says, his face full of pain. The sound of the word escaping from his mouth is less of a word and more of a whimper of pain. "Oh…," he repeats, and he bends at the waist, his hands braced against his knees, supporting his upper body as though he might be sick. I say nothing more, waiting for him to process this information and lead the conversation where he needs it to go. He can get angry at me, scream and kick and fight against it if that's what he wants, or question me, all of which I will accept as my punishment for being such an unmitigated ass.

He straightens up, and there are tears in his eyes. I don't know whether it's because he didn't consider this possibility; or if he did consider it but believed or hoped it wouldn't happen.

"You said you'd never give your gift to anyone but me," he whispers. "Did you…" he trails off, unable to finish the question.

"No – I didn't, Jasper; I didn't let anyone else have it. It still belongs only to you. It will only ever belong to you," I promise him honestly, stepping closer to him and putting my hand on his arm. "And," I add, as though this might make a difference for him, "I didn't have any of them in our…my….the bed in my room."

He collapses onto his couch, his elbows on his knees, his face buried in his hands. I sit gingerly beside him. "Jasper," I whisper. He flinches at the sound of my voice so close to him, but doesn't remove his hands from his face. "Jasper," I say again, "I am so sorry for what I did. I miss you so fucking much; every minute of the day, all I want is to have you back with me. Christ, you don't know how much I wish I could take it all back – have every part to do over again. I would have listened to you that night. I never would have kicked you out of my apartment. I wouldn't have picked anyone else up. I never would have fucked things up so completely and totally; but I didn't know it yet, Jasper. I didn't know I loved you."

I reach up to gently pull his hands from his face, holding them in mine. "But I know it now; and if you'll let me, I will spend the rest of my life trying to prove that to you. I'm so sorry, Jasper – do you think you can ever possibly forgive me for all the massive fuckups I've made?" He doesn't look at me, keeping his eyes riveted to his lap. I offer, "I know I don't deserve it."

He finally speaks. "Don't do that, Edward. Don't try to make me feel sorry for you."

"No, I don't mean it like that; I'm not looking for sympathy. What I mean is that I haven't done anything yet to earn your forgiveness."

"I know you've had problems, Edward, with your parents, and in your personal life. I can forgive the reaction you had; maybe you had conditioned yourself so much that you couldn't help it - I don't know, I'm not a psychologist. But a relationship between us? It's not as simple as just forgiving you."

Time to ask the big question. "Do you think you could love me again?"

Finally his eyes meet mine. "Love isn't the problem."

 _He loves me_ , I mentally sigh in relief. "What is?"

"Equanimity. Endurance. Integrity. Permanence." He speaks the words slowly and nods slightly with each, punctuating his point. "This _ripped me apart_ , Edward, and we were only together for two weeks. What if we get back together, and after a few months, maybe a couple of years, something happens that scares you, makes you panic and flee. I can't live my life on eggshells, Edward; I'm not going to constantly worry that I'm going to do something to spook you, and that you'll be out there fucking around while you figure things out. It's all intensity and fire; but when the fire gets too hot, who gets burned?"

I don't answer, because we both know the answer already. "Kas…" I whisper, intending to repeat my declaration of love; but his body stiffens and his head slowly turns to meet my gaze. The look of contempt in his eyes cuts me to the quick.

"Don't…call…me…that," he says, his teeth gritted. "You may _not_ call me that."

I release his hands and pivot my body on the couch so I can lean against the couch back. I let my head fall back until I am staring at the ceiling. I can't believe how close I was to having it all; and I let it just slip through my fingers. No, scratch that – I threw it, hard, as far from me as I could. Have I ruined every chance?

With my head leaning back, my tears slide down my temples, wetting the hair above my ears. Jasper sits nearly motionless, looking toward the window. Long moments pass as our passive standoff continues. Finally I sit up and he turns to look at me.

"Is this it, then, Jasper?" I ask. "Is it all lost? Isn't there anything I can do…?" I trail off, unable to continue.

He sighs. "I don't know." His hand comes up to rub his forehead, as though he has a headache. "I need to think."

I nod. "I understand," I answer quietly. "I should go, I guess." Unwillingly, I rise from the couch. He stands with me and follows me to the door. He reaches for the doorknob, but I catch his hand in mine and spin to face him.

"I need you to know, Jasper, that I love you. Regardless of what decision you come to, I will never stop loving you, for as long as I live." I take his other hand and we face each other, our hands clasped. "Tomorrow afternoon I have to go to San Francisco for a job. I'll be back early Saturday afternoon. And I will miss you every moment I'm gone." I'm longing, desperately, to kiss him, to feel his soft, sweet lips pressed to mine – it's almost overwhelming. But I can't do it – to try might place even more strain on this tenuous truce.

Instead, a meaningful look must suffice; and he returns it for a long moment, his eyes guardedly wistful but still holding a world of hurt behind them. "Give me till Sunday," he whispers. I nod – I'll agree to nearly anything he asks of me right now. He reaches for the door, and pulls it open, still holding my gaze and one of my hands.

"Sunday," I repeat, and he nods. Releasing his hand, I step into the hallway, not breaking our gaze. "I love you, Jasper."

"Goodbye," he says, and I turn away, towards the elevator. For an instant, as the door closes, I swear I hear a whispered voice add, "beautiful". Quickly I whirl around; but the door is closed, and I am standing in the hallway alone.

-o-


	25. Chapter 25

-o-

 _Jasper_

After the door is safety closed, I physically smack my forehead as I mentally chastise myself for the indulgence of calling him 'beautiful'. _What a harebrained, impulsive thing to do_. The thing is that it was out of my mouth before I even realized – seeing him again was a shock, and even without the confessions he made, I'm sure the word would have been on the tip of my tongue; from habit, and because it's just _so fucking true._ He's so beautiful I could weep.

Nevertheless, I am annoyed with myself for allowing it to transform from thought to spoken word. As I flop onto my couch, exhausted by our conversation, I think about how having Emmett at my apartment tonight when Edward buzzed on the intercom, affected the outcome of the evening.

" _Jasper, it's Edward. I was hoping we could talk"._

 _Emmett turns to me and says, "He's the one, right?" Frozen with shock, I can't respond. "Jasper," Emmett says urgently. "What are you going to do?" Still I say nothing, several times over. Finally Emmett says, "I'm letting him in."_

 _His words finally break my trance, and though I cry, "No!" it's too late. He has pressed the button to unlock the security door. "Emmett!" I wail. "What the fuck did you do?"_

" _You didn't say anything!" he hisses. "Besides – he wants to talk to you. Isn't that a good thing?"_

" _I'm not ready…I'm not prepared to talk to him."_

" _Fine," Emmett replies, "when he comes up, I'll tell him it's not a good time."_

" _You can't do that – he knows I'm here and you fucking buzzed him in!"_

" _I don't think he'll argue with me, Jay," he points out._

" _That's not the point," I protest, almost shrill now._

 _Out in the hallway, I hear the elevator chime, signaling that it is opening onto my floor. "Fuck fuck fuck," I chant under my breath._

" _Jay!" commands Em in a furious whisper. "You go over there and wait, and calm yourself down. Take deep breaths. If you don't want to talk to him, I'll get rid of him. Simple as that."_

" _Okay," I concede, and step back from the door, using every ounce of determination I have to summon the fiercest mask I'm able to find. Shoulders are squared, head held high; face impassive. Quiet, expressionless...let him draw his own conclusions at first._

 _I take a couple of deep breaths while over my shoulder, Emmett is whispering to himself, "Don't break his face, don't break his face." Emmett totally would have done just such a thing in the old days, if I'd asked him to. Things have changed now, with the addition of his sons to his life; but he still struggles sometimes against being the uber-protective grizzly bear._

 _The knock sounds on the door, and I jump. Emmett turns to eye me, and mouths the word, Ready? I nod shakily and he opens the door._

 _Edward's eyes widen significantly when he sees the unanticipated individual standing in the doorway. He doesn't have to look up by much to meet Emmett's gaze; but he has to lean significantly to see around him to where I stand. When our eyes meet, my heart jumps into my throat, dragging my stomach with it. I manage, though, to hold on desperately to the shred of self-control that lets me maintain Jazz._

 _Wordlessly, Emmett steps aside; but Edward waits for my assent before coming into the apartment. As disinterestedly as possible, I look away and nod – doing my best to express just how much this concession is costing me. He sidles past Emmett cautiously, and then goes straight to the living room._

" _Hang on a sec," I mumble, and accompany Emmett into the hallway, outside my door, where Edward can still see._

" _Are you going to be okay?" Em asks me in a whisper._

" _I have no idea," I concede. "I guess it depends on what he's here to talk about…"_

" _I can stick around if you want, hang out in the guest room," he offers, "if you don't want to be alone."_

" _I'm not afraid of him, Em," I assure him._

" _No, of course," he nods. "Jay, I hope you get what you want – whatever that is; whatever's best for you. You are a great uncle and a kickass brother. We want you to be happy."_

" _I know. Thanks, Em." I hug him and give him a kiss on the cheek, and as I pull away I say, "I love you."_

" _Love you too, Jay," he says. He stands for a moment, eyeing Edward in the living room; and then gives me one last look, and a wink, before striding off down the hall to the elevator. So much for Thai food. It occurs to me, though, that crow might be on the menu in my living room tonight._

 _I sigh as I close the door, and I slowly walk to where Edward waits in the living room. We stare at each other for several moments before I ask him why he's here; though I am rather certain it has to do with my incident with Carlisle yesterday. Finally, he speaks, apologizing for interrupting my plans with my "date". For a moment, I consider allowing him to suffer under that delusion, just for a little while. It is a very brief moment though, and I immediately correct him. Unable to stand it any longer, I ask him outright._

" _Why are you here, Edward?"_

 _The question opens up a torrent of information from this man who, in my experience, has been a closed-and-locked book for as long as I've known him; in every capacity in which I've known him. I can't help an acerbic laugh when he uses the "I was going to tell you" line – the same one he refused to accept from me; but that bitter amusement vanishes quickly._

" _You fucking broke my heart," I murmur, barely hanging onto my composure. As I say it, though, I realize that he is the one who is crying – and I am astonished. Utterly astonished. Edward didn't cry when we saw his parents, or when he broke up with me; but here he is weeping in my living room. And then the words that I would have given anything to hear, are being spoken by him – and instead of embracing them, I find myself rejecting them, asking him not to say it again - ready to physically push him away if necessary._

 _And he's telling me about his reunion with his parents, and acknowledging that I didn't betray his confidence, and I'm listening and nodding in the right places; and then, like a punch in the stomach, he confesses to picking up other guys after we broke up. The first one being the day after our breakup…! I can barely stand to acknowledge his words – he touched other guys – his hands on a hard body, his tongue in a willing mouth, his cock stretching a tight ass…the thought makes me feel like I'm going to throw up. Instead, tears come to my eyes picturing my…Edward groaning as he pegs some stranger. Or – unthinkably – bottoming for them._

 _I have to know. "You said you'd never give your gift to anyone but me. Did you…?" He quickly promises that he didn't; and adds that he didn't fuck anyone in his bed (_ _**his** _ _bed…no longer ours, regardless of what he says now). I flop onto the couch and bury my face in my hands. What does he expect me to be, relieved? I'm just fucking devastated. I know what Edward was like before we met – to him, sex was just fucking. Pleasure with no emotion or meaning. But if I had as much impact on him as he claims I did, why was it so easy for him to return to that after he ended it?_

 _And then he asks for forgiveness. Asks if I can love him again. "I didn't know I loved you," he says. And I can believe it; but believing it and being able to live with it – opening myself back up to it – are two very different things. I do love him – I may always love him – but I honestly don't know if I can take this chance again. Because if it went south for a second time…_

 _So I'm honest with him. Brutally fucking honest. I tell him that I just don't know if he has what I need in a relationship. "Equanimity. Endurance. Integrity. Permanence. This ripped me apart, Edward, and we were only together for two weeks. What if we get back together, and after a few months, maybe a couple of years, something happens that scares you, makes you panic and flee. I can't live my life on eggshells, Edward; I'm not going to constantly worry that I'm going to do something to spook you, and that you'll be out there fucking around while you figure things out. It's all intensity and fire; but when the fire gets too hot, who gets burned?"_

 _And then he whispers, "Kas…" And that's just fucking_ _**it** _ _. If he thinks that'll be his trump card, that he'll call me a sweet term of endearment – my Oma's name for me, for fuck's sake – and I'll cave, he is so fucking wrong._

 _Turning in his direction, I level an absolutely withering gaze at him._

" _Don't…call…me…that. You may not call me that." He shrinks away, his eyes wide, and I continue to glare at him until he slumps back, his head resting on the back of the couch. Only then do I shift back to look out the window, and determine to myself that the next word will be his. I will not break the silence between us._

 _It's difficult to hold my hard line, though, as I hear him softly cry beside me. Certainly, Edward crying is an enormous surprise, something I could never have anticipated seeing, even in spite of having been told by the NICU nurses that he'd been teary at the sight of the pre-term babies. An argument between my head and my heart rages silently; and my head is dangerously close to losing the battle. My heart, which I thought he'd turned into a block of ice, seems to be forming some condensation around the edges. By the time he finally speaks, it has started to drip and there's a decent-size puddle below it._

 _His voice despondent, he asks, "Is this it, then, Jasper? Is it all lost? Isn't there anything I can do…?"_

 _With a sigh, I answer honestly, "I don't know. I need to think."_

 _He rises, saying, "I understand. I should go, I guess."_

 _I get up and accompany him to the door, where he suddenly clasps my hand in his, and tells me again, "I need you to know, Jasper, that I love you. Regardless of what decision you come to, I will never stop loving you, for as long as I live." He tells me he's going out of town again – San Francisco this time – but will return on Saturday. And that he'll miss me while he's gone. He holds my gaze, as though he can't bear to step away; the pain and longing are plainly visible in his eyes._

 _Saturday…the day after my plans with Jack. I don't know whether I'll be in the finest form on Saturday, as I've been planning to get good and smashed Friday night. "Give me till Sunday," I tell him vaguely – he doesn't need to know why._

 _He agrees, and then repeats, "I love you."_

 _I bid him goodbye as I close the door behind him, and then that word…that incriminating word slips out, and I want to beat my head against the door as soon as I've said it._

I don't know what I'm going to do – I'm nowhere near making a decision. It was stupid and irresponsible, and if he heard me…I don't even want to think about it.

For the rest of the night, I attempt to do other things to distract myself. Heating up some leftovers for dinner (and grumbling because I didn't get my Thai food). Television. Reading. Taking a bath. Reading in the bath. But it's always there, and not even in the back of my mind. Edward is before me, no matter what I do. His face is hovers before my eyes, like a carrot dangled in front of a donkey. But does a donkey ever say, "Meh, I'm not sure this carrot is the one for me"? No.

We, though, are supposed to be "smarter" than donkeys. Why do we still act like jackasses?

This mental merry-go-round plays in my head late into the night, until I finally fall into a restless, disturbed sleep.

-o-

The rest of the week passes, and I find that I'm as undecided on Friday afternoon as I was on Tuesday night. Over and over, my head reminds me of all the reasons not to be with Edward; and my heart scoffs resolutely at each one. A frank discussion with Kathleen over lunch on Thursday doesn't shed any light; neither do hours on the phone with Rosalie. I just don't know. I stepped so far out onto that limb before, knowing I'd always wonder if I didn't try. I can only place responsibility for that decision on myself; but how can I possibly do it again, having been gutted by it once?

And yet…I remember his body against mine, feeling wholly connected to him _._ Laughing with him over silly things; listening to him as he told me about his passion for photography; watching him work. And thinking, _This is it. I'm home._ And my heart reminds me that when I knew Carlisle and Esme had him back, I wished to have him back as well. Now I have the opportunity – will I really refuse him?

By the time Friday night comes, Jack and I have been in touch and we've decided to go out for a late dinner before heading to a club. He has suggested an Indian food restaurant in Ballard, a neighborhood northwest of my place in Fremont. We meet at the restaurant, and make small talk while we wait for a table to open up. Jack seems in a better mood than when I saw him on Sunday. His smile comes more easily, and he's relaxed and open. As we stand at the bar having a drink while we wait to be seated, I surreptitiously check him out – something I didn't really do on Sunday. I mean, yeah – I noticed that he's, well, pretty ridiculously good-looking. But I didn't give it much more thought than that.

Standing here with him now, though, I can imagine the attention he gets anytime he happens into a gay establishment – hell, any establishment, really – and I can't help thinking that it'll be very interesting to observe what happens when we do get to the club. He's dressed more with dinner in mind than clubbing, I imagine; he's wearing a pair of black flat-front slacks that sit at his hip bones, and a charcoal-grey ribbed v-neck, the wrist-length sleeves accenting his long arms. I didn't realize on Sunday that, despite being rather slim, he's also pretty buff. Yes, this will be a very interesting evening.

Finally, the server seats us and takes our orders – roghon josh for me, mattar paneer for Jack, who tells me he's a vegetarian; and a plate of vegetable pakora to share. Once the server leaves, we fiddle with our drinks a bit, not looking at each other too closely; until he breaks the mildly-uncomfortable silence.

"So…how was your week?" he asks a little absently, not realizing what a loaded question this is for me. I sigh – just a small sigh, thinking he won't even hear it in noise of the Friday night restaurant crowd – but his eyes flicker to meet mine, curious. When I don't answer, his eyebrows pop up. "That doesn't sound promising."

"It wasn't the greatest," I grimace.

"Work stuff?" he asks, and I shake my head.

"No, actually – work is great." I smile a bit at this. "I love it there."

"Sorry," he says, "I don't know what you do." I give him a brief overview of working as a comptroller at the hospital; and he reciprocates by telling me about his job as a stock broker. "It's been a little nerve-wracking the last year or so," he says, and I find myself wondering at the smug smile on his face till he continues, "Some of the weaker stomachs have gotten out of the market.

"But not you," I remark.

"No," he says, smirking. "Everything I have, is because I hung on for the ride. I have a strong nerve."

"And a healthy sense of self-worth," I tease, hoping he won't be offended by the remark.

He isn't, breaking into a self-satisfied grin. "I can't deny it," he says. "I've found what I'm good at – I fucking love it. But you – your problems aren't at work…is it the guy…?" He already knows that I've recently broken up; not having to explain it is a relief.

"Yeah," I nod, "the guy. I ran into his father this week, and then a day later, _he_ came to see me, and…"

"It didn't go well?"

"Well…he apologized. He…" I pause and my eyes light on Jack's face to gauge his reaction as I continue, "He says he loves me. Asked if I could forgive him. He wants me back."

"I see," is Jack's only reply; though I can from the furrow that appears between his brows, that he's puzzled by something. At that moment, the server arrives with our vegetable pakora, and we're silent as we each consume a couple of the gram flour fritters.

Finally, wiping the residual grease from his fingers on a napkin, Jack asks, "So, what are you doing here with me?"

I blink at him, confused. "Pardon?"

"This guy…"

"Edward," I supply.

"Edward. I thought you said you fell in love with him?" he asks.

I nod slowly. "I did fall in love with him."

"And he apologized? Says he loves you? Wants you back?"

"As I said," I answer, a bit stiffly.

"Then Jasper," he leans towards me and levels a pointed stare at me, "what are you doing here with me? Why the hell aren't you with him, beginning your happily ever after?" I don't answer him, instead staring at the table. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him I had to think about it," I answer quietly, my eyes still locked on the table. When he doesn't answer, I look up to find him staring at me, aghast.

"What the hell is there to think about?" he demands.

"Lots of things, Jack!" I answer him defensively. "Like how he slept with other guys after he broke up with me. How he never told me he loved me until he showed up begging me to take him back. How he fucking ripped me in two pieces…" A woman at the next table glowers at me. I realize how loudly I just swore, and lower my voice. "How he ripped me in two pieces and then kicked me out of his apartment."

The server chooses this moment to arrive with our meal and offers to refresh our drinks. Several minutes later when we're taken care of, Jack resumes our conversation.

"Breakups aren't pretty, Jasper," he replies calmly, spearing a piece of paneer with his fork. "People say things they don't mean; they yell, and they throw their lover out, and they do stupid stuff. What happened to you hurts, I know; but it happens to almost everyone." I dip a piece of naan in the sauce from my lamb, avoiding his eyes. "If this guy is the one – the one you thought you would be with for the rest of your life – and you can still picture that, even a little bit…you owe it to yourself not to burn any bridges. At least give him a chance to show you that what he says is true. If you don't try, won't you always wonder what might have been?"

I nod slowly, and he continues. "If you give it a try and it doesn't work out – then you know you tried it, and you can move on. Even if it's difficult to move on, you'll know you gave it your best. But if it does work out…"

I know. I've already had this conversation with myself, the night I first found out that Carlisle Cullen was on staff at Northwest. _Life is a gamble – love is the payout. And if the payout comes, I'll have hit the jackpot._ But I gambled already, didn't I? How many times must I take this risk?

"I'm going to say this one more thing, Jasper," Jack says, "and then I'll let the subject drop. I've been in love with the same person for four years, and it's an utterly lost cause. I'd do anything – anything – for the opportunity to have a relationship with him. You have this chance; he wants you. Don't waste it because he had sex with a few other guys while you were broken up."

I scowl a bit, still not meeting his eyes; and we both eat in silence for a few moments. As I crunch a piece of pappadum I consider his words. And then I decide to turn the mirror the other way.

"So, I don't imagine you've been celibate all that time you've had a thing for Ashton, then, huh?"

He coughs a bit around a mouthful of peas, and downs them with some water. When his breathing has returned to normal, he says, "Jesus, Jasper; way to just jump right in to that conversation."

I give him a look of wide-eyed innocence, saying nothing. After a minute he continues, "No, I haven't been celibate. I've had one-night stands, like everyone has; I was even in a relationship for a while. A _short_ while."

"Really?" I ask, intrigued.

"Yeah." He makes a wry face. "He was very nice, but…"

"Yeah." I get it.

"I was never completely invested in it, and it wasn't fair to him. I ended it after a few months. He knew, anyways." He signals to the server to bring us some more water.

"He knew?" I press.

"When I told him it wasn't going to work out, he was very calm; he said he couldn't compete with the ghost of a relationship that never happened," Jack muses. "I knew then that I shouldn't be in another relationship. It would never be fair to the other person, as long as…"

"As long as you were still in love with someone else," I finish.

"Right. But, honestly – I'm okay with not being in a relationship. I work ridiculously long hours, and I'm sure you'll be shocked to find out that I'm actually pretty anti-social." I smirk, and he acknowledges my smirk with a wry smile. "If I was with someone I'd never see them during the week. But you, Jasper," he says seriously, leaning across the table to me, "you should be with someone. You have a warmth that draws people to you. You deserve to have a happy relationship with someone you love. If that person is Edward, don't let him slip through your fingers."

By now we are finished eating. I'm sitting thoughtfully, twisting my napkin in my hands, when he says, "What do you say we skip the club?"

I start and look up. "What? Why?"

"You don't seem to be in the mood for dancing," he smirks.

"Oh," I reply sheepishly. "Yeah, sorry to be a wet blanket. But honestly – I've been looking forward to this all week. If you're still up for it, I do want to go."

"Well," he says with a deep roll of his eyes, "I kinda had myself mentally prepared, you know, to have fun." I can't help laughing at him; as he said, he _is_ rather brooding. "So yeah, let's go have fun or whatever." He sets his face in a mock scowl and I laugh again.

-o-

After some debate, we end up at a club called XY. His original suggestion of Spin being quickly vetoed by me – after the display I put on last time I was there, I'm not anxious to show my face there again – he recommends XY because of the good reputation of the house DJ. After checking our coats, we head to the bar, where we each toss back a couple shots of tequila. Just as the fuzz starts to settle nicely into my head, Jack turns to me. Inclining his head towards the dance floor, he grins and asks, "Should we risk it?" I grab his wrist and pull him onto the floor.

The DJ's reputation is well-deserved, as he spins old-school progressive house and trance. One song after another, Jack and I dance, just for the sheer enjoyment of abandoning all our troubles and losing ourselves in the familiar tracks. For all Jack's protest, he's a fucking fine dancer. Having left his sweater with his coat, after half an hour or so he takes off his t-shirt and tucks it into the side of his waistband. He's slim and his chest isn't exceptionally defined; but it's entirely bare. The thin sheen of sweat that glistens in the lights gives him an otherworldly quality, and I can't help thinking, if I wasn't in love with Edward…

My thoughts are interrupted by a twink who approaches, attempting to ingratiate himself into a sandwich between the two of us. Jack and I step away from him and continue dancing several feet to the left of where the twink is. Numerous times over the course of the night, Jack or I get hit on – him more than me, I must say – and we both politely decline.

Later on, as we're regrouping with a few more shots at the bar, Jack is commenting on how these guys don't even care if you look as though you're here with someone – they will swarm on anyone new or anyone one who hasn't been around in a while. "Little punks," he mutters. "Didn't their mommies teach them manners?"

The words are still hanging in the air when another youngling comes up to us. This one, though, doesn't give us the usual smarmy come-ons. Instead, he pokes a finger into my chest, and says maliciously, "Guess you're not such a hot commodity after all, fucker. Cullen tossed you faster than a used condom."

I look at him, aghast, and realize I'm looking at the twink from Spin, the one I pissed off by being there as Edward's date. A group of friends surround him – presumably the same group as from Spin, though I never looked closely enough at any but this one to make a positive identification – and they all snort with glee at their friend's witty observation.

Jack speaks before I can even stand to intimidate this infant. "Hey, Billy," he says to the bartender, "how carefully did you check their IDs? This one's in eleventh grade – he goes to school with my little sister. In fact..." he points at several people throughout the group, "these ones are too."

"Fuck," Billy curses under his breath. "You little shitheads get the fuck out of here, and don't come back, understand me? I'll remember you, Cody," he says, pointing directly at the big-mouthed ringleader. "I always remember the ones with mouths too big for their own good."

The boys protest loudly – Cody especially – but Billy signals for the door staff and they escort the entire group out. Jack watches the show, and when they disappear from sight, he turns back to me with a wide grin.

"Nice," I say appreciatively. "What an unlucky coincidence for them that he goes to school with your sister."

Jack smirks and leans toward me conspiratorially. "I don't have a sister," he says in a low voice. "And Cody celebrated his 21st birthday last month at Spin."

Clapping my hand over my mouth, I laugh hysterically, thinking of how furious Cody will be to be hustled out of the bar because they think he's underage. The alcohol in my system makes this the best fucking joke I've ever heard. I'm still gasping for breath as Jack orders two more tequila shots. When the shots are poured, though, he slides them both in front of me.

"What are you doing?" I ask, slurring a bit.

"Am I to understand that the guy you were seeing was Edward _Cullen_?" he asks with a lopsided grin, a product of his alcohol buzz.

"Yeah," I mumble, feeling confused and a little hazy.

"Then drink up," he encourages. "Because if you're in love with Edward Cullen, you need these a hell of a lot more than I do."

-o-

 _Edward_

I lie on the bed, relaxing back onto the soft bank of pillows, my hands clasped behind my head. I watch him as he stands on the floor at the foot of the unfamiliar bed, loosening his tie slowly, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the floor. His eyes never leaving mine, he unbuttons his dress shirt, pulling it out of his waistband; it joins the tie in a puddle on the floor. Next are the belt, button and zipper, and his pants drop. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of his black DMK low-rise boxer briefs; or more specifically, the bulge straining at the front of them. He steps out of the pants, quickly rips off the socks; then, turning his back to me, he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs and slowly, slowly inches them down over the edible curves of his ass. When his ass is fully exposed, he turns and does the same in the front, slipping the briefs lower and lower until his turgid length is completely revealed. The underwear, too, are discarded.

He climbs onto the bed and slowly crawls towards me; then straddling my body, he slides his smooth chest up my thighs and over my throbbing cock, capturing it between his body and mine. My cock is ultra-sensitive, and his touch sends shivers all over my body. His slow ascent up my body continues, his chest meeting mine, our cocks touching each other. He dips his tongue into the hollows at the base of my neck, spending long moments tracing the lines there. As he does, he shifts his hip slightly from side to side, rubbing our cocks together until I'm panting, moaning for a reprieve before he drives me to distraction.

Finally he retreats, sliding his body back down until his face hovers over my cock; then his soft lips part and he takes me into his warm mouth. Over and over the head of my cock meets the back of his throat, his tongue teasing my shaft with the most delicious torment. Several times he brings me almost to the edge; but then, sensing how close I am, he backs off.

When I think I can't stand it any longer, he pulls back and lifts my knees up. From nowhere, a condom is on his cock and a bottle of lube is in his hand. He lubes his gloved cock, then my ass; wordlessly, he lifts my legs up onto his shoulders and without hesitation, he slowly but steadily presses into me. There is intense pressure; but no pain, as he stretches my ass to fit his gorgeous, thick cock. As soon as he is fully sheathed, he pulls back again; slowly thrusting in and out, constantly in motion; and the tension in my body builds, more and more, pulling me tighter until I am taut as the string on a bow.

Our bodies are slick with sweat, our skin gliding easily against each other. He increases his speed, his face frowning in concentration, and the string that is pulled tight threatens to snap. "Stroke yourself," he whispers hoarsely, and I immediately comply, wrapping my hand around my aching cock. He looks into my eyes, the intensity burning between us, as the strain starts to show on his face. His voice is thick as he commands, "Say the words when you come." I nod, knowing that it won't be long before my hot cum explodes between us.

Just another moment and I tense, clenching the muscles in my ass. As wave after luscious wave of ecstasy engulfs me, I cry out, "I love you, I love you!" The declaration and the spasms of my ass bring him to his climax as well. He growls, slamming into me, holding, pushing as deep as he can; and then he shouts his powerful release, his cock throbbing inside me.

When there is no more pleasure to be chased, he pulls out and quickly disposes of the condom; then he collapses on top of me, his face nestling against my neck. "So good, so good," he gasps, struggling to regain his breath. Burying my hand in his hair and pulling his head still closer, I nod. Moments later when we have come down somewhat from our peak, he lifts his head to look into my eyes. "I love you," he whispers.

"I love you too, Kas," I reply, taking his face gently in my hands and kissing his soft, delicate lips, before we drift off to sleep together.

I wake, and though my eyes are still closed I know there's no light coming into the room. It must still be dark out. My sheets are wet, sticking to me; and I think, _Jesus, we were sweatier than I realized._ Eyes still closed, I reach for him…reaching, reaching…but not finding him. I sit up, fumbling beside me for the bedside table to switch on my lamp. Nothing is where it should be; and I finally crack an eye open to look around. I am completely disoriented for just a moment, and then I realize.

I'm in San Francisco. In a hotel room. Alone. It's early Saturday morning, and Jasper is 800 miles away - geographically. Emotionally, he may be a million miles from me. And the wetness in my bed…yeah, I had a wet dream, for the first time since I was fourteen years old. I suppose that's what I get for neglecting my daily relief session in the shower as of late. But this one…it was so fucking real. Even now when I'm awake, I remember every detail with perfect clarity, as though it really happened. Knowing it didn't is almost more than I can bear.

I drag myself out of bed and fetch a couple of clean towels from the bathroom. I clean up the

sheets, lying down one towel for me to sleep on and pulling the top sheet off the bed entirely. For the second time in a month, I am in a hotel room by myself, feeling the full extent of how alone I really am.

And to think I used to love this part of my job.

Instead of allowing myself to slip into despair, I decide to get up and take action. Knowing I can sleep in tomorrow, I throw on a pair of pants and pull open my laptop. I need to do some research into an area in which I have almost no experience; because this is something I need to get right.

For the man I love.

-o-


	26. Chapter 26

-o-

 _Jasper_

 _Buzzzzzz._

The intercom of the security intercom echoes in my head, as loudly as if I slept on Big Ben at noon. It occurs to me that I should ignore it; just stay where I am on my couch, and nurse the hangover I brought upon myself.

 _Buzzzzzz._

Whoever is downstairs, however, has other plans, and slowly, I push myself up, feeling the floor buck slightly beneath my feet as I stand. I amble to the door and push the "talk" button.

"What?" I ask ungraciously.

"Pacific Florists; I have a delivery for Jasper Whitlock," the disembodied female voice replies.

I push the "unlock" button, allowing the delivery person access to the building. While I wait for her arrival at my door, I look around for my wallet, stumbling from the kitchen to the living room and back to the front hall, before realizing it's in the pocket of the pants I still wear.

The knock on the door has my head protesting; and I curse under my breath before opening. The delivery woman, a short, pleasant-looking woman in her fifties, says, "Mr. Whitlock?" I nod and she hands me a wrapped bouquet. I give her a tip and she says, "Thank you, sir. Enjoy your flowers."

I thank her quietly, grimacing a bit at her use of the word "sir", since she's easily twice my age; and close the door as she heads for the elevator. Back in my living room, I unwrap the paper from the bouquet. Inside is a profusion of pink camellias, dark pink freesias and greenery. The scent of the freesia is heady, and even in my less-than-ideal state I hold the bouquet to my face to inhale the scent.

A small envelope is tucked among the blossoms; setting the bouquet on my coffee table, I open it to read the card.

 _Loving you, longing for you._

 _Forever,_

 _Edward_

I gulp and lay the card on the table beside the bouquet. Edward. He'll be returning from San Francisco today; and, true to his word, he has left me alone with my thoughts since he was here Tuesday evening. I am closer now to a decision than I was yesterday, my conversation with Jack last night having given me much positive insight. However, I can say with certainty that as of shortly after dinner last night, I was in no shape to give serious consideration to anything. I'm glad I asked Edward to give me until Sunday to think about this.

Carrying the flowers to the kitchen for a vase, I think back to Jack's words last night. _If you're in love with Edward Cullen, you need these a hell of a lot more than I do._ I was thoroughly confused, and a little annoyed, at first; but realized quickly that Jack, like many, _many_ gay men in Seattle, knows Edward by reputation.

" _Just about everyone knows him," he tells me after I down my shots, "and the ones who don't, wish they did. You two caused quite a stir a couple of weeks ago at Spin, I understand," he adds, chuckling._

" _Yeah," I nod. "The youngling you had thrown out was one of the 'stirred', so to speak."_

" _I gathered that," he nods sympathetically. "Well, I had a few friends who were there. They don't get involved with the 'drama society' that goes on in the clubs, and even they were surprised that Edward had arrived_ _ **with**_ _someone. That was a first," he chuckled._

 _I groan, imagining the gossip and chin-wagging that has gone on without my knowledge since that night. I'm sure my haughty attitude towards the others at the club has endeared me to them all._

" _You held your own, though, from what I hear," Jack adds, as though reading my thoughts. "Put the little ones in their place; and Edward only had eyes for you the entire night."I don't answer, staring into the empty shot glass in front of me. Suddenly I'm not feeling well._

" _Jasper," Jack says, placing his hand on my arm, "it's pretty well known that Edward doesn't show up to bars_ _ **with**_ _people; he doesn't let them stay over; he doesn't apologize – ever. I think it's reasonably safe to say that you are infinitely more important to him than anyone, at any club, in Seattle or elsewhere." When I still don't answer, he leans closer and quietly says into my ear, "He loves you."_

 _I nod, and he slips an arm over my shoulders, pulls me closer to his chest, and places a kiss on my cheek. "You deserve happiness, Jasper," he says. "Don't let it get away from you."_

Sitting in my living room, looking at the blooms, I mull over Jack's words, both from the bar and from earlier at dinner. I know he loves me. I don't doubt it – not at all. Jack told me that if I could picture a life with Edward, even a little bit, that I owed it to myself to give it another try. So I try to picture it.

I get comfortable, stretching out the length of my couch and closing my eyes. I imagine myself in this apartment – moving around my kitchen, starting the coffee pot, making breakfast; and in my imagination, I feel two strong arms slip around my waist, a soft kiss against the side of my neck and a chin resting on my shoulder. I hear a velvet voice say, "Good morning, angel." In the here and now, I sigh at the nickname; how I miss Edward calling me angel, calling me Kas – despite my reaction to his using it earlier this week, I would be so gloriously happy to go through life hearing those words from him every single day.

Returning to my fantasy world, I think about coming home to Edward each night, as he talked about when he came to see me. Or waiting here for him to return from an overnight trip somewhere; feeling the anticipation of him coming home – to our bed, to my arms. All the things I've tried to avoid thinking about since I decided to move on...now I'm seeking out those images, letting them play in my mind like a shaky, hand-held home movie – perfect in its imperfection.

Upon my idyll, another image intrudes – an argument between us. Edward reacting badly, storming out the door; me in tears, wondering where he's gone, whether he'll disappear for days...who he's with. The series of images breaks me from my reverie and I quickly sit up, forcing the thought from my mind. _He says he's not the same person he was before. If only I could be sure of that._

I head for my bedroom, removing my physical clothing as I toss aside the mental imagery. I get into the shower and wash away the remains of the previous day – work, dinner with Jack, the club, the encounter with that fucking prick Cody – all of it is cleansed from me and vanishes down the drain. When I emerge, I feel a thousand times better, with one exception – I'm ravenous.

I decide to go out for – I check the clock – a late lunch by myself. There's a deli down the street, and they have great soup and sandwiches. Some comfort food sounds great. I throw on some soft, comfortably-worn jeans and a black sweater, my shoes and coat; and taking a book, I walk down the street to get some sustenance and some quiet time by myself.

Two hours, a ham and Swiss sandwich and a bowl of cream of mushroom soup later, I am feeling relaxed and peaceful. I pay my bill, giving the server a generous tip for leaving me more or less alone when she saw I was absorbed in my book, and head out. The day is grey and damp, but not raining, so I take my time making my way back, veering off by a few blocks to wander through a gallery I've been meaning to check out. I spend an hour or so there; and by the time I leave it's starting to get dark out.

Coming home, I decide to turn on the gas fireplace. I'm about to curl up again with my book when the phone rings.

I answer, to hear Mama's voice. "Hello, my darling!" she greets me.

"Hello, Mama!" I answer her warmly. "How are you?"

"I'm very well, dear," she replies. "How are you? You're sounding so much better than last time I talked to you!"

"I'm _feeling_ better," I answer honestly. "I went out with a friend last night, for dinner and to a club. Today I slept in and then I took myself out for lunch and to a gallery; and now I'm about to sit down with a book."

"Jasper," she replies, with a voice that sounds thick with emotion, "My dear, I'm so relieved. I was worrying about you so much..."

"I know, Mama," I murmur. "But I'm holding up okay. Better than okay, actually."

"So the friend you went out with..." she asks, "Is this someone new?"

"Just a friend," I clarify. "He's a friend of Kathleen, actually; I met him when I went for lunch with her friends last Sunday. His name's Jack."

"I see," she replies vaguely. I tell her more about the Indian restaurant I went to – as it turns out, it was one of her favorites when they lived here – and then we just chat, catching up on the everyday things that have fallen by the wayside since the more pressing issues took priority in our conversations: the renovations they're planning to make to their house this summer, her latest project at the Centre for the Homeless where she volunteers, their debate about where they'll go for a vacation next winter.

She hesitates for a moment after telling me about Dad wanting to try scuba diving; then she says, "Rosie tells me Edward came to see you."

I wince a bit, wondering whether she's upset that I didn't tell her myself. The truth is I didn't want her to worry about me making this decision until after I'd already figured out what to do.

"He came over on Tuesday night," I reply, going for the straightforward approach. "He apologized for his reaction, told me he wishes he hadn't broken up with me, and he told me..." I pause, clearing my throat. "He told me he loves me."

Mama is silent for a moment, and then asks, "How do you feel about that?"

"I was angry at first," I admit, deciding not to tell her about him sleeping with other guys; knowing Rosie won't have spilled that part of it. "I wish he'd told me sooner, instead of waiting until he was trying to convince me to take him back."

"Maybe he didn't realize it then," she remarks.

"That's what he said," I concede.

"So what did you tell him?"

"He was going to be out of town till today," I reply, realizing as I do that, as he had said he'd be back in Seattle this afternoon, he's likely home now. "I asked him to give me until tomorrow to think about it."

"And?"

"I'm...I'm having trouble deciding, Mama," I admit. "I mean, I can picture us together, sharing a life, being happy. And it's great that he has re-established contact with his parents...did Rosie tell you about that?" Mama confirms that she did, and I continue. "So hopefully having them in his life again will help him be a bit more grounded; but he's been so damaged for so long, Mama. He has to learn how to be _in_ a relationship...I don't know if I'm up for being a guinea pig. I still love him, so very much; and I desperately want to be with him. But if something happened again, that set him off..."

"Jasper," Mama says seriously, "let me tell you something about love. Love is a truly wonderful thing; and when you find the person you're supposed to be with, the damaged parts of one person fit into the damaged parts of the other, and they make a whole. Love isn't perfect, and it's almost never easy, but if you can help fix each others' broken pieces so that they fit together, it's worth the effort. But before you can do that, you have to have faith. I know Edward broke your faith once; but he's already made huge changes in his life, to begin to heal. If you truly love him, I believe you owe it to yourself to give him another chance."

I sigh, and my eyes light on the vase of pink camellias that sit on my coffee table. "He sent me flowers today," I remark.

"That's lovely, dear," she replies. "What did he send?"

"Pink camellias," I reply, adding, "and dark pink freesias."

"Pink camellias!" she replies. "He made a very distinct choice in those, I think. What a coincidence!"

"Wait...what about his choice?" I repeat. "What coincidence?"

"Jasper, don't you remember what your father used to send me, every single time he went out of town, back when he was travelling so much?" she prods.

I think for a moment, and then a long-buried memory resurfaces, of a bouquet of pink camellias being delivered to our house here in Seattle for my mother. "Pink camellias," I answer automatically.

"I don't suppose you know anything about flower meanings," she remarks. "You young people are so prosaic. A pink camellia means one of two things: it means either, 'take care of yourself for me,' or it means, 'I long for you.' That's why your father used to send them every time we were apart."

"But do you think that's why Edward sent them?" I ask skeptically.

"I can't say for sure, of course," she replies; "but pink camellias are a rather specific floral request. Plus – for a man to send pink flowers to his male partner? Yes, I believe it's quite deliberate."

"Yeah...I guess," I muse. The more I think about it...Edward does so little by random chance. Besides that, what did the card say...? _Loving you, longing for you._

"Mama," I say suddenly, "I have to go."

"Yes," she replies with a smile in her voice. "I would say so." I can only smile at how intuitive Mama is, how she already knows without me telling her, where I'm going. "I love you, dear," she says.

"I love you too, Mama. Bye," I reply, and hang up the phone. I toss my book on the couch, turn off the fireplace, and put my shoes back on. I pause briefly to look into the hall mirror, making sure my curls aren't too out-of-control; and then I throw on my coat, grab my keys and I'm out the door.

In my car, I tap the steering wheel nervously as I make my way south, across the bridge, to the Capitol Hill neighborhood. I find a parking space not far from Edward's building, and sprint to the door. Pushing the intercom button, I wait to hear his voice; instead the door buzzes, letting me in.

I quickly mount the stairs to his apartment. At the top of the stairs, I knock on the door. It opens and in front of me is Edward. He is dressed casually, much as I am, in old jeans, a comfortable long-sleeved t-shirt and bare feet. His bronze hair, gleaming in the halogen lights that are far overhead in the high ceilings, is tousled as always. His green eyes are wide, betraying his surprise.

"Jasper," he says softly. "I didn't expect you tonight."

"Am I interrupting?" I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Of course not," he says, smiling almost shyly. "Will you come in?"

"Thanks," I say, and he steps back to allow me to enter.

"May I take your coat?" he offers, and I can't help but smile to myself at how formal we've suddenly become. Considering that the first time I was at this apartment, his comment to me was, "Bedroom's that way," things have changed significantly.

He hangs it in the hall closet, and then holds out his arm to usher me to his living room, following behind me.

"It's really good to have you here again," he says quietly.

"Thank you for the flowers," I tell him. "They're lovely. Pink camellias...for longing?"

A small smile breaks on his face; his eyes shine. "You knew what they were for."

"I had some help," I admit. "I didn't know if that was what you meant, or if they were more random than that."

"I had some help too," he grins. "Took me a while to find out what was blooming in San Francisco right now, and then find something with an appropriate meaning. Those ones, though..." he says in a heartfelt voice, "were perfect."

Our eyes hold each other for a moment, until I feel self-conscious. Dropping my gaze, I ask, "How was your trip?"

"Productive," he says; and I know for him, that is the highest praise he can bestow upon a business trip. He hates to waste time – something that unfortunately ends up happening a lot when you consider the number of people required to carry out larger-scale photo shoots.

"Good," I reply lamely. Again our eyes find each other, and the gaze is held for a long moment. This time when I look away, my eyes light on something new, something I've never seen in this apartment before.

"What's this?" I ask, striding over to the desk and picking up a photo frame. In it is an older photo of the Cullen family – much older, in fact; Edward and Alice are children. The entire family appears to be on a camping trip.

Setting it down, I look around for others; and suddenly realize that the room is filled with photographs. On walls, on the bookshelf, end tables...framed photos are all around. Most aren't Edward's professional work – they're snapshots, candids, family portraits. But a few _are_ his work, and these are the ones I gravitate towards first...

...because the photos are of me. A couple I've already seen – being the ones Edward gave me – but there are several I've never seen. They are all from that day in Canal Park; and as always, Edward's work makes the subject sparkle.

"Edward..." I murmur, moving around the room much as I did earlier today when I was at the art gallery. Edward, remaining where he is, follows me with his eyes; not offering any commentary, not interrupting my viewing. After looking at the pictures of me, I take in photos of various members of the Cullen family, the seniors and the juniors.

Finally, having given them each at least a perfunctory viewing, I turn to face Edward where he stands in the middle of the room. I'm wondering about one very particular photograph. Feeling a little breathless, I ask, "Your night table...?"

Wordlessly, he gestures towards the bedroom, inviting me to look for myself. He lets me leave to look on my own. The photo is there, in a different frame, glass intact...and with friends. Two smaller photos of me now flank it. I study them all for a moment, then slowly turn and return to the living room.

Edward waits for me there, his eyes inspecting the floor several feet in front of him, his hands clasped behind his back. His body language conveys his vulnerability. Softly, as though he's speaking to no one in particular, he says, "I call it 'Project Recalled to Life.' I had them custom-framed; they were all finished and waiting for me at the framing store when I got back from San Francisco this afternoon. I've been putting them up since I got home."

"This is beautiful, Edward," I offer, and he smiles and gives me a small nod of thanks.

"Would you like a drink?" he asks, and I nod, following him to the kitchen. There are a couple of unframed photos on his fridge door, and alongside them is a business card; the kind you get from your doctor's office telling you the dates of your upcoming appointments. I peer at it. Dr. Heather Matson; Edward has weekly appointments with her for the next several weeks.

"Dr. Matson?" I blurt out without thinking. "Edward, are you sick?"

He smiles gently, shaking his head. "She's a family therapist," he replies. "My parents and I are seeing her together; and, well, on Tuesday she suggested I see her on my own as well. I agreed."

"You're seeing a therapist?" I ask, incredulity coloring my tone.

"Yeah," he says, putting a glass of Scotch into my hand. "I have, uh...stuff I need to figure out."

I can only stare at him, my mouth open, as I process what I've seen and heard in the very short time I've been here tonight. Edward, content to let me work through this in silence, leans against the counter opposite me. Finally, he reaches slowly for my hand, threads his fingers through mine; pauses to see whether I will object to his action; and then, saying, "Let's talk," he leads me to his couch.

-o-

 _Edward_

As soon as I get home, I get to work placing the framed photos throughout my apartment. A family grouping on the wall, a few of my grandparents on the bookshelf, individual photos here and there; and throughout them all, Jasper's beautiful face casting his brilliance into every corner of my home.

I take a break for dinner; and by the time darkness falls over Seattle, I'm settled into my armchair with my laptop to catch up on the emails I put off while in San Francisco. I have an email from Pacific Florists letting me know that the flowers I ordered have been delivered to the recipient. I try to imagine Jasper's face as he received them; but I don't know how he'll feel about it – whether he's leaning towards giving me another chance, or if he has decided not to risk it again.

Sighing, I tell myself not to think about it; I know he'll keep his word and get in touch with me tomorrow. I focus on my emails, working my way through them. About an hour later, I jump when my front door intercom buzzes. Figuring it's Alice or my parents stopping by – no one else visits me – I jump up, cross the living room to the intercom panel, and hit the button to release the front door lock.

While I wait for the visitor to arrive at my door, I put my laptop on "sleep", and put it on my desk. By the time I'm snapping it shut, there's a soft knock. I cross the room back to the door, and pull it open without bothering to look through the peep hole.

And then all other thoughts are abandoned as my eyes alight on the form before me. My angel, beautiful Kas – _I will call him Kas_ – is standing at my door.

-o-

By the time I take his hand and lead him from the kitchen to the couch, my heart has climbed from somewhere down around my ankles, to my throat, and is threatening to lift me off my feet. I'm feeling more optimistic, more positive, more _genuinely happy,_ than I can remember ever having been, my whole life. He loves the flowers, he loves the pictures; he's concerned about me. And now, he has done me the honor of allowing me to hold his hand – such a simple act, but it makes my heart soar. I never held anyone's hand before Jasper, not since I was a child. It hasn't been the type of physical contact exchanged in the liaisons I've had. I never realized how intensely intimate it is.

Now, sitting on the couch side by side, we talk about so many things. "I've pictured us together, Edward," he says. "I've thought about it, even when I tried not to; I visualized what it would be like for you and me. I see us just living life, the day-to-day stuff, and I think it would make me so happy to have that life with you." He hesitates before continuing. "But then I think about...getting into an argument, or having a misunderstanding...the way you reacted to that, Edward – that scares the shit out of me. I know people fight, and I know that if we were together we'd have arguments; but I can't work anything out with you if you don't stay and give us a chance to talk about it."

"The way I acted that night, Jasper," I reply, "it was reprehensible. I am mortified at what I did; there's only one thing I've ever regretted more deeply." He doesn't ask what; I'm sure he already knows I'm talking about the boys I was with while we were apart. "I was angry at you, and angry at my parents; and I became cold, and cruel...and just horrible. I'll never forgive myself for becoming that person, for hurting you the way I did." A lump grows in my throat as the memory of the way Jasper looked that night flashes into my memory.

"I forgive you," he whispers. "Like you said, you have...stuff...you need to work out. I understand that."

"Everyone has been much better to me than I deserve," I murmur, thinking of my parents and Alice. Jasper asks me about what happened when I came out, and I relate the whole story to him – the communication breakdown, my refusal to discuss my life with my parents, and the way I extracted myself from their lives until my existence became almost completely solitary.

"Your parents must be beside themselves now," he muses. "Especially your mother."

We chat some more about my parents until he asks me something else he's clearly been thinking about. "You said when you were at my place, that it only took one little simple thing to make you remember the times we had spent together. What was that thing?"

With a wry smirk, I answer, "A $300 cell phone call."

"What?" he says incredulously.

"Yeah," I nod. "Remember when I was in Vancouver?"

Recognition dawns on his face. "Oh, my god - $300?" He whistles a low whistle. "Well, you said you didn't care if it was a thousand dollars. I suppose you should have been more specific," he says with a little chuckle.

"It was worth every penny, Jasper," I aver, "because you got me through that night; and that memory...it was the means by which you restarted my frozen, dead heart and brought me to life. I saw that bill and every single thing, every memory I'd tried to pretend didn't exist – they were all right there. Just like you were that night, for me." He looks down, his eyes resting on our joined hands. "Jasper..." I whisper, leaning closer to him. "I don't want to live without you."

"I..." he hesitates, then looks back up at me. His eyes are the most brilliant shade I've green I've ever seen them. "I want to give us another try. I'm still afraid to open myself up to it again; but what I've seen tonight, the things you told me, the little bit your dad told me...I know you – we – are worth it. I want to give us a real chance this time; because before, we never really had a chance. We were both hiding too much. We didn't talk about the things that were really important."

I shake my head. "No, we didn't. But I know you were following my lead. I never opened up to you, I never talked about my family..."

He holds up a hand to stop me. "You're right, I _was_ following your lead – and I went against my own character, Edward. I knew that what I was doing was dishonest, hiding that stuff from you; and I was afraid."

"I _made_ you afraid..."

"Stop – enough," he insists, and places his free hand on my cheek, looking into my eyes. "No more placing blame, even if it's on ourselves. Let's start with a clean slate."

"I don't have a clean slate, though," I say sadly, looking away, and his hand falls from my face.

"The other guys," he murmurs, and I nod. "Yeah," he sighs. "I've had a hard time dealing with that. I still am. I wish I could say, no problem, it's in the past, and just forget about it. I think it'll take me a while to get past it completely." Again he reaches to my cheek, gently turning my face back to him. "But I _will_. I'm going to have faith; _we_ are going to take a leap of faith together." He stares into my eyes searchingly, and I nod silently, unable to verbalize the relief I feel, the overwhelming sense that Jasper's love has sanctified me and that maybe, someday, I'll be worthy of it.

His hand still on my face, he leans towards me; I lean in to close the distance between us, and for the first time in _much too long_ , our lips touch. I never, ever want to lose the sense of wonder I feel right now – the knowledge that I am blessed with the love of my life. Our lips move gently, sweetly against each other, rediscovering. His lips part; mine follow and our tongues meet again, his delicious warmth inside me. For several moments, we slowly revel in our return to the center of the universe.

Gently, I pull away to tell him again, the most important words I've ever spoken in my life. "I love you," I whisper to him.

"I love you, too," he murmurs back.

-o-


	27. Chapter 27

-o-

 _Jasper_

When Edward whispers those words to me, those sweet, long-desired words, they fill my soul. _He loves me._ I return them to him gratefully.

"Lie down with me," he says softly. "Please lie with me and just let me hold you." He reclines on the deep sofa and opens his arms to me, and I relax into him, my head on his chest over his heart. When we are settled together, he heaves a deep sigh; it's so wrought with emotion that it is almost a moan. "I have ached for you, Jasper," he says, his voice trembling. "When I realized how much you meant to me, and how I forced you away…it was the blackest day of my life."

I bury my face in his chest and inhale deeply, letting his scent soothe me. I know exactly what he means – I have ached, too, since the last time I was in this apartment. "I'm here now, beautiful," I tell him, raising my face to his to see that he has tears in his eyes. He smiles warmly, his eyes shining, and kisses my forehead.

"I've missed hearing you call me that," he replies, and pulls me closer to him – we are as close to each other as we can be, our bodies pressed against each other wherever possible.

"I missed saying it," I sigh.

"Did you…" he says, and then stops.

I lift my face to him again. "Did I what?"

"I'm probably wrong," he says. "Maybe my mind manufactured something because I wanted it so much…but when I was leaving your apartment on Tuesday, I could have sworn I heard you call me 'beautiful'."

"Yes," I concede quietly.

"Oh."

"I'm a hypocrite, I know," I continue. "Telling you not to use my nickname; and then indulging myself using yours."

"Well, you were saying it more to yourself than to me," he replies thoughtfully. "I barely heard it."

"Regardless," I tell him, "it's an hypocrisy I want to end right now. You've missed hearing 'beautiful' – I've missed hearing 'Kas'. I'd like to hear it again…if you still want to use it, that is," I add quickly.

"If I _want_ to use it? I may never use anything else again," he says; then, in the barest whisper, he adds, "Kas."

This time it is my turn to sigh deeply. I slide one of my knees between his, tangling our legs together so that we are as intertwined as possible. Edward's hand comes up to my head to softly stroke my curls, and he begins to hum – something I've never, ever heard him do. I can't even remember him singing along with the music when we danced. His voice is deep; it resonates in his chest, his heartbeat becoming the metronome for the melody. The song is slow and soothing. It goes on and on, carrying me surely into a peaceful, dreamless slumber.

-o-

I awaken to a state of complete bliss, feeling his strong arms wrapped around me. I am utterly content; because not only do I now have Edward, but I have all of him, and he has all of me. There are no secrets, no forbidden topics; even being afraid of him overreacting to something seems like less of an issue now, because everything is out in the open.

We are, of course, still on his couch, which means I've barely moved all night; not that I've wanted to, but now my body is stiff from lying in the same position for eight hours. Carefully, trying not to wake my still-sleeping lover, I slide out of his arms. When I have successfully extricated myself, I stand slowly and stretch my sore muscles. Looking down at Edward, his face is one of utter serenity. I have to smile at the perfect happiness in his countenance.

I head into his kitchen to make coffee, noting as I pull out the bag of coffee that he's out of Starbucks' Christmas Blend now; he must have used up his stockpile. I scoop the Caffe Verona into the coffeemaker, and a moment later it's gurgling. As I wait for my black gold, I lean on the counter and stare out the kitchen window, reflecting on the similarities to the first time I awoke here on a Sunday morning. Waking by myself, leaving Edward to continue to sleep. Getting a pot of coffee brewing. Looking around the quiet apartment to learn about the man I've spent the night with.

Of course, the similarities are only superficial. The differences are what make this morning so important: Edward's loved ones looking out into the room from their places of honor throughout the house; a plant in the kitchen window and two in the living room – they weren't here before; the card on the fridge, noting Edward's appointments with his therapist; and of course, Edward himself, laying his soul bare to me last night. I was right; he _is_ the person I believed was hiding behind his façade. The knowledge makes me happier than I've ever been.

I pour my coffee and meander back into the living room, sitting comfortably in a large arm chair across from the couch where Edward still sleeps. Forty-five minutes pass as I just sit, drinking my coffee and watching him sleep. I would happily make this my early Sunday morning routine for the rest of my life.

But then I sigh, and remind myself not to put the cart before the horse again. We have both committed to taking things more slowly this time – we need to get to know each other, and time is the only way to do that.

Thinking about taking things slowly makes me wonder about sex. Of course people can have sex without emotion – they do it all the time. And it's not as if Edward and I haven't already been together; but this is different. I feel like there are more conversations to be had before we reconnect in that way, despite the progress and openness we've already achieved. When I make love to Edward again, I want it to be without reservation, absolutely nothing holding us back. And I'm just not there yet.

I hope that when I tell Edward this, he will understand that it's not a rejection of him – god, I want him more than ever – but rather, it's an attempt to build sustainability in our relationship.

As I drain my cup, he starts to stir on the couch, his arms flexing as though reaching out to hold what – who – is no longer in them. I get up, leaving my cup on the table, and return to the couch, kneeling beside it. His eyes still closed, his hands find me and his mouth splits in a drowsy smile.

"Good morning, beautiful," I murmur.

"Mmmm – it _is_ a good morning," he replies sleepily. "Held my angel all night long. Best morning ever."

I can't help climbing back onto the couch and intertwining myself with him once more. "What are your plans for today?" I ask gently.

"Hmm…" He purses his lips. "Well, I was sort of hoping the love of my life would come see me today. Since I can check that off the to-do list, I guess my schedule's free now." He chuckles. "How about you?"

"No plans," I murmur.

"What do you to say to going out for breakfast with me?" he asks.

"Sounds good. Same place as last time?" I suggest.

"Sure," he agrees.

"In that case, I guess I'd better run home and get changed," I reply. "Want me to come back here, or just meet you there?

"Run home…? Why go all that way?" he asks, looking at me with bleary eyes. "Why don't you just shower here?"

"Um…I could, I suppose," I answer slowly.

He pulls back from me a bit, looking uncertain. "You can borrow clothes from me…" he says, as though he's trying to answer my unspoken qualms.

"Sure," I reply.

"Uh-oh," he says. "What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything," I reply, feeling guilty that I'm making him feel insecure. I sigh. "Can I be straightforward with you, beautiful?"

"Yes; in fact, I wish you would," he replies, looking more confused than ever.

"If I shower here, Edward…I'll be…showering alone." I try to say it as gently as possible; but it is a statement, not a question.

"Oh," he breathes. "I see what you're saying. Jesus, you had me fucking worried."

"Are you upset?" I ask quietly.

"I'm not _upset_ ," he replies. "I'm disappointed."

"Yeah," I acknowledge. "I sort of am too, to be honest. I mean, it would be so easy to just slip back into that part of our relationship, Edward; and I know it would be…well, amazing. But if we're going to take things more slowly, build a real relationship – I just don't think jumping into bed right away is really the way to do that." I pause, realizing how I've never actually begun a relationship that way myself. "Maybe that sounds old-fashioned…outdated…I don't know…"

He slowly nods. "It probably _is_ a little old-fashioned," he muses, adding, "but, so what if it is? Just because something's old-school doesn't mean it's obsolete. Who's going to tell us we're wrong? What's important to me, Kas," he says, taking my chin in his hand and looking at me seriously, "is that we get this right. You and I are going to do what's right for us. And when it does happen – it'll be better than it's ever been. Because we love each other."

"Thank you," I murmur, lifting my face closer to his. He leans down to meet my lips with his and our mouths move together in a slow, passionate dance for long moments. Finally, he pulls away, clearing his throat.

"Okay, sexy," he says. "If we're going to live up to what we said, you know, five minutes ago, we'd better stop _that_ ; and get our asses up and get ready."

"You're right," I sigh.

"Had to happen sooner or later," he says in mock martyrdom, and I chuckle as I stand up, grabbing his hand to pull him up with me. "Why don't you go ahead and shower; I'll get some clothes for you to wear and leave them on the vanity. You know where the clean towels are."

I nod and head to the bathroom. Just shy of an hour later, we're both showered and dressed, and ready to go to breakfast. As we're about to walk out the door, Edward's phone rings. "Sorry," he says, "just let me see who that is." He peers at the caller ID, and says, "My parents. Do you mind waiting a moment?"

"Of course not," I answer quickly, gesturing at the phone.

He answers; it's obviously Esme on the other end of the line. He walks away, towards the large windows and speaks quietly. Several times he turns to look at me, smiling gently as he talks to her. I try not to be intrusive of their privacy; but it's obvious he's giving her the gist of our conversation last night. From the happiness written on his face, I have to assume that Esme is sharing in his joy. Just before he ends the conversation, I hear him say, "I'll ask; but it's up to him, okay?" He tells her he loves her – which makes my heart swell – and says goodbye.

"Okay," he says, when he's hung up the phone. "Shall we?"

We walk to the diner hand in hand, strolling as though we have all the time in the world. Inside, we slide into the same booth we occupied last time, ordering the same breakfasts as before. Once the server has taken our orders and poured us each a coffee, he takes my hand on the tabletop. "So, my mom wanted me to ask you something; but I want you to know that you should feel free to say no – if you're not ready, or whatever reason – just say so…"

"Okay, you're making my palms sweat," I tell him. "What does she want to know?"

"She asked if you would accompany me to their house today, after we have breakfast, so she can meet you. You know, properly," he says, quietly adding, "this time."

"Oh," is my lame reply. Somehow, knowing what the request is doesn't relieve any of the stress.

"Yeah," he says awkwardly, clearly not knowing how to interpret my cryptic reply.

I muse, "I _have_ already met her. And I know Carlisle – we've had our share of intense conversations. This couldn't possibly be worse than that."

"Well, that's a ringing endorsement," he teases gently; but then his face turns serious. "But really, Kas, if it's too soon, don't feel pressured. My mother will understand."

"No," I answer, squeezing his hand. "It's not too soon. You and I are already in this together, beautiful."

"We are," he smiles broadly.

"I want you to introduce me to your parents," I continue, "not as your father's coworker; but as the man you love."

He smiles, but his face is thoughtful. "Hmmm."

"What?"

"You said 'man'," he muses. "Have you ever noticed that we – everyone – uses the word 'boy'? When did that change?"

I'm struck by his observation; and as I ponder it I realize it's absolutely true. I've always used the word 'boy' in my head. What changed?

"I don't know, for sure," I reply slowly. "I think, maybe… _we_ changed. I don't feel like a boy anymore; not after everything that's happened. I think, suddenly, we're grownups."

"Took us long enough," he grins, and lifts my hand to his lips to kiss it. The server brings our breakfast; it smells delicious and we both tuck into it, absolutely ravenous.

After breakfast we walk back to Edward's building to pick up his car, so we can drive to Carlisle and Esme's house. On the way, we pass Lake Union Prep, laughing over some of our old teachers as we swap horror stories. I direct Edward past my old house; and then he swings several blocks north, to his parents' house. As we park on the street in front of the house, I'm suddenly nervous.

Edward turns off the car and reaches for the door handle. He waits for me to open mine as well; but I'm frozen, welded in place from nerves. "Hey, angel," he says softly. "You okay over there?" I can't answer right away. He asks again, a bit more insistently this time. "Jasper? What's wrong?

"I'm nervous!" I choke out.

He looks at me in genuine amazement. "But you've already met them!"

"Well, I know your father, of course; but what about your mom? I met her once, and I can't imagine the impression I made was all that great!" I wince, remembering the scene at the restaurant.

"Kas," he says, and gently taking my chin, he turns my face to his. "They're going to _love_ you – both of them." He gives me a chaste kiss on the lips to soothe my nerves.

I give him a long look and a weak smile, and take a deep breath. "Okay," I say, blowing it out. "Let's go in."

As we walk up their front walk, he takes my hand, lacing his fingers through mine and giving it a squeeze. At the front door, he raps on it sharply a couple of times, and then opens the door, not waiting for them to answer; it is, after all, his parents' home. As we step in, he calls out, "Anybody home?"

Visible from the foyer is the living room to the left, and it is from here that Carlisle emerges, with a very open and welcoming smile. "Hello, son," he says to Edward, clapping his hand on Edward's shoulder, then smiles broadly at me.

Edward replies, "Hi, Dad. I've brought someone home to meet you." As though we haven't already spoken numerous times before.

Carlisle plays along, though, grinning and nodding. "Let's wait for your mother. Esme?" he calls. "Are you coming, my dear?"

Esme steps into the foyer from the other direction. She also wears a broad smile, and gives Edward a kiss and a hug. "I'm glad you're here, dear," she smiles at him, and then turns to me.

Edward steps back to me, and puts one arm around my waist, looking at me as he says, "Mother and Dad, I'd like to introduce you to Jasper Whitlock…my partner." His face is beaming with happiness and pride; and I feel the same way at hearing the word "partner".

I return his glorious smile, and then turn to Carlisle and Esme. "Hello, Carlisle," I say, extending my hand, and he accepts it gladly. Turning to Esme, it's clear she expects more than a handshake. Her arms are open wide to me, and her eyes are brimming. I bend down to embrace her, saying, "Hello, Esme."

She hugs me tightly for a long moment. As she releases me, she says, "Jasper, we are so happy to welcome you to our home."

"Thank you both. I'm very glad to be here," I reply, looking from Esme to Carlisle, and then to Edward. He is watching the whole exchange with a beatific look.

"I'm going to give Jasper a tour of the house," he says.

"Certainly, darling," Esme replies. "Join us in the sunroom when you're done." Carlisle puts his arm around her and they stroll off in the direction from which Esme came.

The front foyer is large and open; set in the hardwood floor is a huge, ornate iron grate that covers the cold air return for the furnace. Despite the abundance of darker wood in the turn-of-the-century home, the color scheme is a light sand color throughout, balancing out the dark wood and keeping the overall feel very light and casual.

As I take in my surroundings, Edward takes my coat and hangs it in the closet off the foyer. He leads me up the staircase to the second floor, showing me his room. He blushes a bit when he indicates the posters on his walls from his teenage days, saying, "My parents haven't changed…um…anything." Down the hall, he indicates where Alice's room is, then the bathroom; a spare bedroom is next, followed by Carlisle and Esme's room.

Downstairs is the large formal living room and dining room, with Carlisle's study off the living room; at the back of the house is a large eat-in kitchen. He leads me back through to the front foyer, and then into the sunroom. I have to chuckle at the notion of a room devoted to the sun in a city that sees rain nine months or the year; but the room is large and bright nevertheless. There is a wood fire burning in a fireplace at one end of the room, and comfortable-looking furniture arranged throughout the room. Carlisle and Esme are each sitting in a large wingback chair; they smile at us as we stroll into the room, hand in hand.

Edward leads me to a love seat and we sit, facing them. A plate of gingersnaps and a pot of coffee sit on the low table in front of us. Esme pours us coffee for all of us, and insists we each try a gingersnap, even though we just finished stuffing ourselves at breakfast. We make small talk for a while; they ask me polite questions about my parents – Esme remembers my mother from Lake Union-related events – and whether I have any siblings.

In return, I ask questions about their house, their garden, and the volunteer work Esme has mentioned. Normal, getting-to-know-you questions, that keep us at the surface level; even though I'm sure there are things to be said that would dig far beneath the usual pleasantries of a new acquaintance.

Eventually we reach a lull in the conversation. After a moment or two, Esme breaks the silence.

"Jasper," she begins, "I think it would be a good idea to address the elephant in the room." I blanch a bit at her directness; but, hoping for the best, I nod and smile weakly. "Carlisle and I realize what a large part you played in Edward's return to us. I would like to think, of course, that eventually we would have reconciled, regardless." She pauses here and smiles at Edward, the patient smile a mother gives when correcting her errant child. "But even if that did happen, Edward may still have been alone at that time. Your presence in his life has had such a profound effect…" Her voice catches a bit, and Carlisle reaches out to take her hand where it rests on the arm of her chair. She smiles gratefully at him. "You make him very happy, Jasper," she murmurs, "and seeing it makes me tremendously happy. We owe you so much, and I am thrilled that we will have a chance to get to know you better, now that you two have decided to work things out."

I get up from my chair, and she rises to meet me in the middle of the room. We embrace; and my voice is thick with my own unshed tears when I reply, "I love your son, more than anything. He makes me happy, too; and knowing he has a relationship with you now, means so much to me." Edward and Carlisle both rise to stand beside us as Esme and I release each other. Carlisle slides his arm over her shoulder, pulling her close to him; and Edward wraps both arms around my waist. We are a perfect picture of family happiness.

We chat for a few more minutes; then Edward looks at me and says, "Well, I think we should probably be going." I agree, and thank Esme and Carlisle for their kindness.

Soon we are saying our goodbyes, and Edward and I walk out the door. As it closes behind us, he grabs me around the waist, lifting my feet right off the ground and swinging me around as easily as though I were a small child. He has a jubilant smile on his face and I'm certain that my own smile is as brilliant. Still, I hiss, "Your parents' neighbors are going to be talking!"

"Pffftt!" is his reply. "Let them!" He sets me down, but keeps his arms around my waist and pulls me close for a quick kiss. I swear I hear laughter from behind Carlisle and Esme's front door, but when I turn to look, there are no faces in the window.

Edward practically dances down the walk to the car. Once we're seated inside, he says, "They loved you! I told you they would. Didn't I tell you they would?"

Amused, I agree. "You did tell me they would."

"And you were nervous!" he scoffs. He continues chattering excitedly as we drive back to his building, talking about how they always have a big Fourth of July party and that he can't wait to take me to that. He mentions his younger sister Alice, and that maybe next time we visit them, she'll be there as well. I've never seen Edward _chatty_ before, and it's frankly quite hilarious; though I keep my amusement disguised.

He's still talking when, back on the street in front of his building, he walks me back to my car. I'm heading home, as it's getting into mid-afternoon and I have some work to do at home, to prepare for some meetings this week. At my car, I turn to him and say, "I am thrilled to have met your parents. I love you." He returns the sentiment, and we share a long, slow kiss.

I unlock my car, get in and start it up. I let it warm up for a moment and he stands beside the car. I push the button to put the passenger's side window down, and he leans down to look in. "I really am relieved that it went so well," I say, and he smiles; then I add, "Let's hope it goes just as well when _you_ meet _my_ parents." And then I pull away.

I won't let him sweat it too long – I'll call him when I get home – but I can't help chuckling when I see him in the rearview, frozen in place on the curb, his mouth hanging open and a look of shock on his face.

-o-


	28. Chapter 28

-o-

 _Edward_

Jasper's parting words to me take me by surprise, no question. Being completely absorbed with his meeting with _my_ parents, I haven't even considered meeting _his_. Immediate concern about what they must think of me and my treatment of their son, seizes me, and by the time I realize Jasper has even pulled away, he's down the street and turning the corner.

 _Shithead_ , I think to myself. That's just fucking cruel. Twenty minutes later, though, my phone rings and I answer it to hear his gentle laugh on the line. He apologizes for the prank and I magnanimously forgive him; and then he tries to allay my concerns by telling me that his own mom's wisdom made him realize that we should be together. "They'll love you," he assures me, "because I do." Outwardly, I agree, although on the inside, I'm not convinced.

Over the next week or two, we talk on the phone every day, usually more than once; and we see each other at least a couple of times a week, either at his apartment or at mine. I am overjoyed every time I hear his voice, even though some of the conversations we have to have are difficult, sometimes uncomfortable.

For one thing, we agree that we should both get tested for HIV and other sexually-transmitted infections. This is, I admit, a greater issue for me because of the sheer numbers of men I've been with casually; despite always using a condom, I have not always…okay, I've almost never had any kind of picture of their sexual history, nor they of mine. I get tested every six months, and I know Jasper does too, despite his lower "number". He and I are entering a monogamous relationship now, and to protect each other, this is what we have to do. Our tests, fortunately come back clean; and we make a date with each other to go have it done again in six months.

Though I sometimes find it frustrating, I don't push when it comes to resuming our intimate relationship. I know Jasper is as much a sexual being as I am – when he is ready, he'll let me know. In the meantime, we do make out a _lot_ ; and I allow myself some extra time when I'm showering in the morning, to relieve that tension.

The second week, I ask if I may take him out on a date Saturday night, and he willingly agrees. As the arrangements are up to me, I give a great deal of thought to what we should do on our date. Taking him back to Anthony's is simply out of the question – I don't know if he'll ever want to go there again, and honestly I feel the same. I rack my brain for something romantic; but, being sorely out of practice in the area of romance, I can think of nothing more original than a trip up the Space Needle, followed by a quiet dinner. I don't tell him what I've planned, only letting him know the appropriate attire.

Saturday comes, and the day is cool, but surprisingly clear, especially for March. I take this as a good sign. I have planned for us to ascend the Space Needle between six-thirty and seven p.m.; seeing the sun gives me hope that maybe we'll catch the sunset from the observation deck. I am terribly nervous all day long, second-guessing my plans. I hope Jasper won't think it's too great a cliché.

At 5:45, he arrives at my door. He's wearing a black cashmere V-neck sweater and deep grey dress pants. His wheat-colored curls frame his beautiful face, and his lips glisten as though he has just moistened them with his tongue. In other words, he is absolutely fucking gorgeous.

"Wow," I breathe as he smiles at me. "You look miraculous."

His dimples deepen as his grin grows wider. He steps closer, hooking his arm around my waist and pulling me to him. After placing a soft kiss on my lips, he says, "You look pretty splendid yourself, beautiful."

I don't argue, because I know it's true. I'm wearing a new pair of black pinstriped pants and the matching suit jacket, and under it, a soft white dress shirt. My bronze locks, normally messy, are…well, less messy, I guess. I have styled my hair back off my face a bit; Jasper apparently approves because his free hand goes straight to my hair as he speaks, ghosting over it. I wrap my arms around him, holding him close. It's been several days since we saw each other and I feel the need to reconnect. I have promised myself to never again take for granted his presence in my life, or our time together.

After a few moments we part; I invite him to step into the living room until I'm ready to leave. I'll be driving, since he still doesn't know where we're going. Good-naturedly, he tries to pry the information out of me, but I refuse. "Nope," I reply, "you're just going to have to be patient."

He gives me an exaggerated sigh, and sits on the couch while he waits. He flips through a photo album I've left out on the coffee table. It's one from my early years, and he chuckles at the pictures of me as a baby. "Look at the chunky legs!" he laughs, pointing at my first birthday picture. It goes beyond baby fat – I am positively rotund.

I clear my throat pointedly, saying, "Okay, thanks for that little trip down Memory Lane. I think it's time to go."

He's still grinning as we drive west towards the Space Needle. I decide to use the venue's valet parking service, handing over the keys to my precious Volvo as we get out. Jasper looks amused and a little surprised as I take his hand, guiding him to the front doors. "I haven't been here since grade school," he smiles. "Before I moved back I was thinking that once I got settled, I'd have to take a trip up again."

I pay the admission, and we step onto the elevator. We are the only two on the elevator, aside from the Space Needle employee. "So it's not too cheesy and touristy?" I ask apprehensively as we begin our ascent.

"No!" he affirms, slipping his arm around my shoulder and kissing me chastely. He whispers in my ear, "It's romantic."

I'm hugely relieved and gratified, and I give him a squeeze back; then grab his hand as he retrieves it from my shoulders. The woman operating the elevator catches my eye and grins at us, then discreetly looks away, giving us our privacy.

On the observation deck, we clasp hands and look out over the city. The sun has managed to stay out throughout the day, and my hope for a sunset view seems assured now. There are banks of clouds around the western horizon, becoming deep purple as the sun sinks behind them; the sky streaked with pink, orange and mauve. It's perfect, everything I could have asked for.

Jasper stands behind me, resting his chin on my shoulder and wrapping his arms around my waist. He whispers, "So beautiful."

I nod. "I was hoping we'd get to see the sunset tonight."

"Hmm? Oh, yeah," he replies. "The sunset is nice too."

I smile broadly as he places a warm kiss on my neck, and heave a sigh of contentment. I could stay here forever, wrapped in my angel's arms, watching the city light up as dusk settles. We have reservations, though; and I'm hoping my restaurant choice is as big a hit.

Forty-five minutes later, we are seated at Il Bistro, an Italian restaurant in Pike Place. It is one of the most romantic restaurants in this part of town; and remembering the lasagna Jasper made when I got back from Vancouver, I know he loves Italian food. The ambiance of the restaurant is perfect, with low lighting and soft music. I have managed to snag us a table for two tucked away in a private corner; a candle flickers in a frosted holder on one side of the table. We each have a glass of red, and having just given the server our orders, our hands are clasped across the table.

Jasper's fingertips trace the veins on the backs of my hands as he tells me about the friend he has made recently. Jack Charles – I know who he is, though I've never spoken to him – and his rather painful situation, being in love with his straight best friend, obviously weighs on Jasper's mind. He relates to me several of the conversations he's had with Jack, and I realize that I owe Jack a great deal. The advice and opinions he has shared with Jasper about our situation, have been quite open and generous, considering the reputation I've had in Seattle. Like Jasper, I find myself wishing there was something I could do to help Jack.

Over our entrees – lasagna for me, ravioli for Jasper – I tell him about having turned down the job in Italy. He chides me gently for having let go a job that could potentially have brought me some important overseas exposure; but I tell him that my priorities have changed. I still love my work, and I know travel will continue to be a part of it. But my number one commitment is here in Seattle, and any time I go overseas, I want my partner there with me. Jasper fairly beams at my use of the word partner, as he did when I used it to my parents. He reaches across the table to caress my face, gently stroking my cheekbone with his thumb.

Our conversation flows in a way it never could have before our breakup. With no topic off-limits, it feels natural and easy and _right._ By the time we find ourselves standing on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, the large red neon clock that overlooks the Market reads ten-thirty p.m. Jasper's blonde curls shine with the red glow as I lean towards him for a quick kiss.

"Well, this ends the dinner portion of this evening's festivities," I grin. "But the night is still young…where may I take you now?"

He steps in close and wraps one arm around my waist; with the other hand he takes my hand and holds it to his chest. "I know this great little place we could go dancing…it's not all that well-known, but the music is great…"

"Yeah?" I reply. "Well, just tell me where, angel, and I'll go anywhere you like."

Slowly, he brings his lips close to my ear, and whispers, "Your living room."

My head whips around to meet his eyes, unsure I heard him correctly. He is staring at me with an intensity that makes my cock fucking jump. "My…my living room?" I repeat.

He nods slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. The hand that rests on my back slides gradually down, crossing the waistband of my pants until it comes to rest on my bottom. He squeezes gently, and I can't help the sharp intake of breath that follows. I repeat slowly, "I'll go anywhere you like."

I slip out of the arm that encircles my waist, but keep his hand in mine as I lead us back to the Market parking garage. Driving back, I don't want to rush, don't want him to think that the sex is the only thing that matters to me. As badly as I have screwed up in the past, I am determined to let him know how much he means to me, how precious he is.

Back in my apartment, I take his coat, hanging it in the closet, and then excuse myself to go to my bedroom where I hang up my own suit jacket. When I return to the living room, he is dialing up a song on my iPod where it sits in the stereo dock. Having found what he's looking for, he pushes play, and steps to meet me in the middle of the room.

The song begins, and I recognize the sweet, dulcet voice of Dallas Green, in the slow, sensual "As Much As I Ever Could". Jasper's hand quickly finds my waist again, this time wrapping both arms around me and pulling me close. My arms loop over his neck, and we sway together to the sweetly sensual music.

 _lost at sea_

 _my heart beat was growing weak_

 _hoping you'd hear my plea_

 _and come save my life_

 _as the storm grew fierce_

 _and danger was certainly near_

 _i knew there was nothing to fear_

 _bring me your love tonight_

His lips brush against mine softly, one, twice; then they slowly travel along my jawline to the sensitive spot under my ear. I shiver at his sensual touch, and he continues down my neck.

 _bring me your love tonight_

 _i know I am not where I belong_

 _so shine a light and guide me back home_

Our hips still sway as his lips continue their travels across my throat, and I can feel the unmistakable evidence of his arousal, pressing against the soft fabric of his pants. When his lips reach the hollow at the base of my throat, I lean my head back, gently shifting my hips forward, pressing a bit harder into his. He hums before his tongue dips into the hollow.

"I want you, beautiful," he whispers, his voice husky. "I want to make love to you – tonight."

"I want you, too," I reply gently. "I love you, and I want to show you, again and again."

"Show me," he moans.

Slipping out of his arms, I take both of his hands in mine, backing away. He follows me, his eyes never leaving mine as I lead him to the bedroom. When we stand at the end of the bed, my hands slide underneath the bottom of his sweater, my fingers gliding up over his abs and pecs before I slip the sweater over his head. His arms still extended over his head, I trace my fingers back down them, over his shoulders and draw an outline around his nipple. He shivers and the delicate flesh puckers and hardens beneath my fingertips. I lower my mouth and follow the same path around the pink bud with my tongue, then gently nibble. He moans softly and his hands thread themselves into my hair, gently holding my face to his chest, bidding me not to cease my attentions.

With his other hand, he undoes my shirt, one button at a time, until his finger hooks into the waistband of my pants. I pull the shirt tails out and he slides the shirt off my shoulders; it joins his sweater on the floor. Now it is his turn to lightly glide his fingers over my shoulders, chest and stomach, relearning every inch of my skin. He gently pulls his chest from my mouth, and leans to kiss me, our bare chests pressing against each other. There is infinite passion in our kiss; but it is slow and unhurried – we are taking our time, doing this the right way – with real emotion behind it.

As our tongues move together, my hands go to his belt, undoing it; his button and zipper follow. When his pants fall to the floor, the insanely sexy boxer briefs from my dream are there. He looks even better in them than my dream gave him credit for, his erection straining against the soft fabric. I stroke his hard length through the fabric and his eyes close, his head tipping back and his lips parting with the exquisite sensation.

"May I suck you, angel?" I whisper to him, and he pulls my face to his, plunging his tongue deep into my mouth for several moments before answering.

"Please do," he answers hoarsely, and I am immediately on my knees before him. Before divesting him of his briefs, I nudge his shaft and sac with my nose, mouth and tongue; letting him feel my hot breath through the fabric. Finally I slide the briefs down over his beautifully round ass, squeezing each firm globe, before pushing down the front as well. His cock is so fucking beautiful as it springs free, the briefs falling to the floor. I have to pause for a moment to just take in the sight before me, before my tongue is drawn to it.

First I taste the drop of pre-cum glistening on the tip. It is salty and sweet and _just him._ Then I slide my tongue around the base of the glans, over the smooth, taut skin, dipping into the small V of the frenulum. My hands rest on his hips, and I feel him tremble beneath my touch. He makes small, soft gasps when I cross a particularly sensitive spot, and his hands again stroke my hair, teasing it back into its usual messy state.

After teasing the sensitive skin of the head for a few moments, I lick my lips to moisten them. Keeping my mouth close together to increase the sensation, I push his head past my lips, into my mouth. He groans, and the muscles in his ass flex as his hips gravitate towards me ever so slightly. Slow and calculating, my mouth continues the journey along his shaft, towards his pubic bone. The trembling of his body increases as I near my destination. I raise my eyes to look at him; but like the first time I did this, I'm unable to see his face – his head has fallen back as he focuses on the sensations. I close my eyes again as my lips nestle against his pubic hair; his cock is as far down my throat as I can take it. I suck hard for just an instant, then release and slide back up his cock until I again have just the hard purple head in my mouth.

Then I begin a slow rhythm of attack and retreat, taking him down my throat again and again, swallowing the saliva that pools at the thought of him filling my mouth with his hot semen. His hands move from my hair to my face, stroking my cheeks with his thumbs as his fingers extend under my jaw. His hips start to thrust against me, rising to meet my mouth, his ass flexing and releasing with each thrust. He is panting and moaning, his vocalizations rising as his release nears.

At last he gives one final thrust towards me, and then his body stiffens, holding completely still, save for the spasms of his cock. I lift my eyes to him again, and he is looking down at me now, his face etched in a mixture of pain and pleasure as he groans loudly, sending his load spurting down my throat. I moan at the feel and taste of his hot cum in my mouth – it feels like I've waited fucking forever for this.

As if swallowing his jizz isn't reward enough, when he has come down from his orgasmic high, he gasps, "God, you're so fucking beautiful when you suck my cock." He takes my hands, pulling me to my feet, and wraps one arm around my waist, the other circling the back of my neck. He attacks my mouth with his, no longer slow and sweet; our tongues now are frantic and desperate. I finally pull away, my lips feeling swollen and my cock in dire need of attention.

Realizing this, Jasper immediately removes my pants, tossing them to the side; my briefs follow after them. He bids me to lie on my back on the bed, and when I am propped up on pillows, he goes down on me, groaning, "Fuck, it's been too long." His warm, wet mouth is such a beautiful place to be, and my whole body sings as he works his talented tongue on me. He is so voracious, so enthusiastic in his attentions to my cock, that it is mere moments before I feel the sensation building, threatening to overload. I'm ready to fill his mouth with my hot, satiny cum.

I place my hands on his head, asking him to slow down. "Please…Kas…I'm too close. Uhh, god…" I whimper.

"Let me do this," he begs. "Then we'll both last longer next round."

"Ungh," I moan, sinking back onto the pillows. He returns to sucking and milking my cock, and in less than a minute, my whole body tenses, tighter and tighter…and then my senses are flung in a thousand directions at once. "Uh, Kassss…god…fuck…yeah!" I shout, and my cock pulses, sending spates of jizz down his throat. He swallows every drop as I writhe in my release. When my racing heartbeat begins to slow and my breathing calms, he releases my cock and climbs up to lie with me. "Thank you," I whisper; and he smiles broadly, drawing my face to his and kissing me deeply.

He lies on his back beside me and I turn to him, resting my head on his chest. He wraps his arms around me, stroking my hair gently, kissing the top of my head as we lay quietly for a few moments. He murmurs, "I love you so much." I lift my face to his to kiss him again, and this time our kiss is long, slow, and languorous. It builds as our tongues probe more deeply, more insistently; he rolls to his side so that we are facing each other directly. Our hips are in line and he presses his into mine, swiveling them slightly, trapping our somewhat-softened cocks between us. We each moan a bit at the renewed contact between our most intimate places.

Feeling him move together with me, the length of our bodies pressed against each other, is the most exquisitely beautiful sensation of my life. He is _here_ , with me, in our bed. I am so happy to have him here that I feel as though my heart will burst. The balloon is there – but it is _full_ to overflowing.

Jasper's hand comes to my chest; he gently pinches and tweaks my nipples as our kissing escalates from passionate to frenzied, each of us seeking more and more of the other. My cock is hardening again; and his is as well, from what I can feel pressing against my bare thigh. His hand slides from my chest to my ass, cupping, squeezing and slipping between my legs to gently massage the prostate from the outside. He releases my lips; moving to my neck, he kisses and licks his way down. When he reaches the front of my shoulder, he sucks – hard – and I know he is placing his mark on me, branding me as being for him alone.

Between the action of Jasper's fingers, and his lips and tongue on me, my cock is again throbbing with desire for him. I push my hips against his so he can feel how hot he's making me; and his cock is just as fucking hard as mine is.

"Will you fuck me, Kas?" I groan desperately, expecting him to immediately roll me onto my back; but instead he shakes his head.

"No," he replies.

"What?" I gasp, disbelieving.

"No," he repeats, and _he_ rolls onto his back, lifting his knees and planting his feet on the soles of the bed. He takes my hand, tugging me towards him. I move over him, holding myself above him, and he takes my hands in his face. "The night we got back together, you told me you ached for me. I've ached for you too, beautiful. I want you…I _need_ you…to fuck me. I need you to possess me and make me yours again."

His words grip my heart and it stutters in my chest. I kiss him in acquiescence, even though I know the truth: when I'm inside him, he will be the one who possesses me. I will tell him of this knowledge soon…

…but not tonight. Because tonight, and for the rest of my life, I am going to do anything in my power to give my angel what he needs.

I reach for the condoms and lube, which are now inside my night table drawer instead of on top of it (the photos of Jasper having taken their place). I put some lube first on my fingers and gently apply some to his ass, greasing the surrounding area well and then sliding two fingers past his smooth entrance. He groans, biting his bottom lip as I slide in and out a few times, stretching and opening him in preparation. Then I rip open one of the foil packets, unroll the condom onto myself and spread a generous amount of lube over the rubber as well.

I lift his legs, placing his feet on my chest so that he is doubled over and spread wide for me. Holding the base of my cock in one hand, I place the head against the opening of his tight hole, and then I stop. He is watching me intently, waiting for the moment of penetration; but I have to ask him before I do. I give him a smile, which he returns, certainly knowing what I'm going to ask.

"Is this okay?" I murmur, and he nods.

"Yes," he breathes. "Please, Edward."

Now that I have his permission, I don't waste another second apart from him. I press into him, slowly and steadily; first breaching his outer resistance, then sliding all the way in. His mouth forms a small, silent "o"; his eyes remain locked on mine until my entire length is engulfed by him. Then they flutter closed, his face relaxing into a look of utter bliss, like an addict who has just started to feel the effect of his own personal poison. I feel much the same way – being inside him again, feeling him tight and hot around me, is at once blissful relief and sweet torment.

I retreat most of the way, then slowly slide back in, repeating this several times until I'm sure he has completely adjusted to me. Removing his feet from my chest, I wrap his legs around my back. He pulls me close, with his legs and his hands, my chest falling to meet his. He moans in my ear. "Uhhh, beautiful…god, you feel _so_ fucking good."

Instead of answering, I start to thrust in and out, moving relatively slowly but pushing as deeply into him as I can. Always very vocal during sex, he groans each time I sink into him. Over and over, his hips rise to meet my thrusts. Our spiritual connection becomes more fully enmeshed as we make love. Never having fully understood the capacity of human love before Jasper, I couldn't imagine how deeply and utterly complete I feel with him; how much sweeter it is to make love to this man, than it is to fuck a thousand others. I adore him. He is my whole life now.

Beads of sweat roll off us as we press and twine with each other, desperate for as much physical contact as possible. I can feel his hard length against my stomach each time I thrust. I am getting close to my orgasm, and I want to be certain he's there with me. I reach down and grasp his cock; it is wet from our sweat. I glide my thumb over the head a few times and he gasps, his body trembling. "Don't…Edward…I'm…so close," he pants.

"I am too," I gasp. "Come when you're ready, angel; I'll be right behind you." A few more thrusts, a few strokes of his cock, and his body tenses. His ass clenches around me, and his hips lift nearly off the bed.

"Ungh," he moans loudly, "beautiful…god…yeah!" His cock twitches and throbs in my hand as he shoots another load of silky white cum all over his stomach and chest. His ass spasms, and I give one last deep, hard thrust, and then hold myself there, pushing in as deep as I can, pulling his hips against me. I teeter on the verge of sanity for an instant, then I explode, knowing that the broken pieces of me will be put back together by him when I come down.

"Fuck, Kas…fuuuuuck…," I shout as my orgasm racks my body. "I love you…ah!...I love you." He reaches up to my nipple, flicking it with his finger as his body milks the last bit of cum from me.

When we are both completely satiated, I collapse onto his chest, feeling whole, happy and fucking spent. I remain there for a few moments, and then reach for a couple of clean towels under my night table. Forcing myself to stand, I stagger to the bathroom and run one of the towels under warm water in the sink. I bring it back to Jasper and carefully clean off his stomach, and then take care of the excess lube still on his bottom. I toss the towel into my laundry hamper and then go back to the bathroom and perform the same task on myself.

Finally, I am back in bed with him. This time he is the one to lie his head on my shoulder as I hold him close to me. We should both be nodding off in no time; instead we remain awake for a long time, stroking each other's faces, exchanging soft kisses and sweet, murmured endearments.

When we do both fall asleep, it is with the knowledge and the promise that, as much as it is within our power, we will never be apart again. Even when we're at our own apartments, even if I'm travelling; I love this man, and I never wish to be parted from him again.

-o-

We enjoy warmth because we have been cold.  
We appreciate light because we have been in darkness.  
By the same token, we can experience joy because we have known sadness.  
-David Weatherford

-o-


	29. Chapter 29

-o-

 _Jasper_

 _8 months later – a few days before Thanksgiving_

The roar of the plane's engines has quieted and we are at cruising altitude. Though it's the middle of the day, Edward has already passed out beside me. We are headed to Austin on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, to celebrate the holiday with my parents. Rosalie and Emmett will fly in tomorrow, with Brandon and Gabriel.

Edward's face is relaxed and peaceful, and I chuckle at how he nods off as soon as we get into the air, on every flight; then my face sobers as I think back to the first time we flew to Austin together. He didn't sleep on the plane _that_ day.

 _He rubbed his sweaty hands on his pantlegs, one leg bouncing as we sat in on the tarmac in Salt Lake City, waiting for the plane to take off for Austin. He had barely said a word all day, not since we'd woken up early and taken a cab to SeaTac Airport. His face was pale and drawn, his jaw tight; he answered questions with a nod or a few words, and didn't initiate conversation. If I hadn't known better I'd have been concerned that he was ill. But I did know better, and I knew exactly what was causing his behavior today._

 _In short, he was terrified._

 _It had been nearly two months since Edward and I had reconciled, and things had been absolutely blissful between us. We'd spent as much free time together as possible, and burned up the phone lines when Edward had to travel out of town for work. Our relationship grew better and better; and we hadn't had an argument or even a serious annoyance since our reunion._

 _But today, he was going to meet my parents, along with Rosalie, Emmett and the boys. We were flying to Austin to help celebrate my dad's birthday and Mother's Day combined, though Mother's Day wasn't for a week yet; we would spend that day in Seattle with Esme and Carlisle._

 _Edward's hands gripped the armrests as we finally taxied to the runway and became airborne. Never having flown with him, I wondered if he was a nervous flyer or had motion sickness. When I inquired gently, he gave me a short, terse response. "I'm not sick. And I fly all the damn time."_

 _I clenched my jaw slightly, figuratively biting my tongue as I reminded myself that today must be a difficult one for him. After all, it was conceivable that my family may not have the best opinion of him after our breakup. I wasn't really worried about my mom, knowing as I did how her advice had helped contribute to our reconciliation. For that matter, I knew my dad would be an easy sell – he'd see how blissful I was and that would be enough for him._

 _But Rosalie, and to a lesser degree, Emmett – of their response, I wasn't so confident. Emmett was the only one in my family who had already seen Edward, the night they met at my apartment. They really hadn't spoken, though; and Emmett's impression had been set by witnessing my response to Edward that night, which was less than gracious. And Rosalie…I sighed as I thought about how she might treat Edward this weekend. She'd been so furious at him after our breakup, especially since she knew about the other guys he'd been with; and though she had been…the only appropriate word was 'civil'…when I talked about him after our reconciliation, she usually changed the subject pretty quickly. It was clear that she was dubious as to his staying power, that she was waiting for the other shoe to fall._

 _I hadn't related these conversations to Edward; he had already created enough of a dragon in his mind when it came to Rosalie and the rest of the family accepting him. Naturally I sympathized with him; but I was excited to see them all. I hadn't seen my dad since the day after New Year's; Rosie either, for that matter. And the boys – I was desperate to see Brandon and my little Gabey._

 _So the balance of the flight was spent in silence. Not an angry silence – just a "giving necessary space" silence. I caressed his hand a few times, and in return he would give it a quick squeeze. We picked up our rented car at Austin-Bergstrom International Airport, and Edward handed me the keys. We silently loaded our luggage into the trunk, and then we silently drove to my parents' house. As I pulled into their driveway, I noted that Rosie and Emmett's rental vehicle wasn't here yet. She had texted me that their flight would be delayed a couple of hours, but that they wouldn't be far behind us._

 _As we parked and I turned the car off, I reached out to catch his hand before he opened the door. "Beautiful, listen to me," I said softly. His eyes darted to meet mine, and I was taken aback by the panic there. I knew he was nervous, of course; but I didn't realize the depth of his anxiety. His eyes were wide; his nostrils flared as he breathed heavily. I brought one hand up to gently stroke his cheek as I spoke. "I love you. You are the love of my life. I know you're nervous about what you'll find behind that door, but you don't need to be. Because you have me, and you will_ _**always** _ _have me." His eyes were locked with mine as I talked him through his anxiety. "Remember what you told me when I met your parents? 'They'll love you, because I do.' I'm here with you, beautiful. We're facing this together."_

 _When his breathing had calmed, I said, "Okay – let's go." We each got out and he started to walk to the trunk; but I told him, "Leave it for now – we can get it after." I took his hand and led him along the small walkway that led to the side door of my parents' house – only strangers and company came to the front door. Before we even got to the door, I heard my parents' dogs racing to meet us, their nails clicking on the adobe tile floors. I opened the door and we stepped into the kitchen, Edward still holding my hand tightly. I greeted the dogs. "Hey, boys! How's the gang?" Recognizing me, they went a little nuts until I finally commanded them to stop jumping._

 _By that time, my parents had made their way into the kitchen, smiling broadly; my father admonished the dogs to settle down. Edward stood awkwardly behind me as I enveloped first my dad, and then Mama, in joyful embraces. When I had hugged them each, I turned and put my hand on his arm, encouraging him to step forward. "Mama, Dad…" I began, "This is Edward. The love of my life."_

 _For a moment nothing happened, aside from Edward's tiny smile at my introduction. It was as though no introduction had been made, and the two parties just started each other awkwardly for a moment. Finally Edward stepped forward, extending his hand to shake with whichever of them would claim it._

" _Mr. and Mrs. Whitlock, Edward Cullen. It's my pleasure to meet you both."_

 _My mother, who until now had appeared cool and dispassionate, suddenly threw her arms wide and stepped forward to embrace an astonished Edward. "Welcome, Edward," she said warmly. "I'm glad you came to visit us."_

" _Thank you, Mrs. Whitlock," he murmured, hugging her back. "I'm very happy to be here."_

" _Please, dear," Mama invited, "Call me Anneliese."_

 _My dad had watched this with an inscrutable look – I was having trouble determining his opinion of this exchange. When Mama and Edward stepped back from each other, Edward turned to my father, looked him in the eye and extended his hand. "Sir?"_

 _To my utter relief, Dad didn't hesitate. He stepped toward my love, grasping his hand in a firm shake, his other hand coming up to rest on Edward's shoulder. "Glad to meet you, Edward. Harris Whitlock," he said. Dad, as Jasper Harris Whitlock III, had always gone by his middle name, to distinguish him from his father and grandfather – he liked Harris much better than "Trip" or some similar nickname. It also helped after I was born, with both of us having the name Jasper. "Please don't call me sir – that happens more and more these days and I hate it," Dad added good-naturedly. "Call me Harry."_

" _Sure," Edward agreed with a smile as my dad released him. I stepped beside him and wrapped my arm around his waist, grinning broadly at him. He returned my grin sheepishly._

 _And that was it – the ice broken, we fell into rather easy conversation, as though there was no reason to be anything but glad we were together. Mama poured us some iced tea and we sat on their back deck under the awning, talking about the flight, work…just catching up on life in general._

 _After we chatted with my parents for a while, we grabbed our luggage from the trunk of the rental car, and then it was my turn to take Edward on a tour of their house. Fortunately,_ _**my** _ _room had not been preserved as a sacred shrine to my teenage years; so I didn't feel awkward about showing it to him. I told him this was where we'd sleep this weekend._

" _Wait, what?" he asked. "In the same room? Are they okay with that?"_

 _I chuckled. "My parents aren't naïve, Edward. For one thing, it's not like we can_ _**get** _ _married. For another thing, I'm twenty-six years old! If they said no sleeping in the same bed, we'd just go to a hotel. Nobody wants us to do that, including me."_

" _Good point," he conceded; but looked thoughtful for several minutes as we opened up our suitcases and pulled out some fresh clothes._

" _Do you want to take a shower before dinner?" I asked. His eyebrow quirked into a mischievous look. I rolled my eyes and said, "Yeah, they're understanding, but let's not be ridiculous."_

 _He laughed heartily. "Somehow I didn't think that was what you meant, but it was worth a shot."_

 _I pulled him to me and planted a kiss before replying, "Come on. I'll show you where the clean towels are."_

 _Once Edward was in the shower, I went back downstairs to thank my parents for receiving him so warmly. They were still sitting on the deck, so I joined them, flopping beside Mama on the outdoor loveseat where she sat. She asked quietly how things were going between Edward and me. I sighed happily and lay down, placing my head on her lap. I closed my eyes as she laughed at my childish gesture and smoothed my hair._

" _It's going so well," I answered. "He's a different person, night and day from how he acted before. So open – it's like all that time he had a million things to say but just couldn't get started. Now he tells me so much about his parents, his sister, his memories of childhood…and he's so loving. And sweet…I just adore him."_

" _Safe to say he feels the same way about you," my dad added, and I opened my eyes to squint at him as the sun shone from behind his head. "It's obvious to me that he's only got eyes for you."_

 _Mama sniffled then, and I looked up to see a tear trickling slowly down her face. "Sorry, darling," she said, "I shouldn't be crying. But I'm so happy things have worked out. Last time I saw you the situation was so different."_

 _I grimaced, not wanting to think back to the only truly black time of my otherwise-charmed life. Through the open bathroom window I heard my shower turn off, so I headed back upstairs in time to see Edward coming out of the bathroom, one towel wrapped around his waist and another over his head as he dried his hair. When he saw me come in and close the door, he grinned impishly._

 _I didn't let him distract me; though if I'd thought about it for even two seconds I'd have been sorely tempted to "accidentally" untuck that towel and let it fall to the floor. No, I headed to the bathroom and took a hot shower, washing off the residue of travelling a couple thousand miles. The shower did wonders, and when I got out I felt refreshed and relaxed._

 _Stepping out of the bathroom into my bedroom, I was surprised to find that Edward wasn't there waiting for me. I quietly tiptoed to the window to look out on the back deck, and there he was, relaxing with my parents. My father was asking him something about shutter speeds – I smirked, realizing he'd learn soon enough not to get Edward talking about photography. As I slid into a pair of comfortable shorts I thought I heard car doors slamming. I threw on a t-shirt and hurried down the stairs._

 _By the time I got to the side door I heard little voices on the other side of it. I threw it open and there stood Rosalie, Emmett, Brandon and my Gabey. I knelt to greet my nephews. Brandon threw himself at me; Gabe quietly wrapped his arms around my neck. I scooped them both up, one in each arm, and twirled them around the kitchen as they giggled and shrieked with delight. I stopped before I got dizzy, bending to give Rose a kiss and greeting Emmett enthusiastically. By that time my parents had joined us, having heard the commotion from the deck. Everyone was talking at once – our family was the definition of "joyful noise". After I handed Brandon to my dad and Gabe to Mama, I glanced around for Edward._

 _He stood in the sliding door between the kitchen and the deck, watching the happy scene. As he had when he'd met my parents, he looked slightly awkward, as though he felt out of place. I crossed the kitchen to him and took his hand, gently leading him to join us. Rosie and Emmett had their backs to us, chattering with Mama and Dad about the flight and the Austin traffic; but soon Em turned and saw us standing, waiting for a break in their conversation. He gave Edward a small smile and then nudged Rosie. "Hey, Lee-Lee," he said, and she looked at him, then saw us. Her face went from animated to solemn in almost in an instant._

 _She and Emmett turned to face us. I took a deep breath and jumped. "Rosalie and Emmett, this is my partner, Edward Cullen. Edward, my sister Rosalie Whitlock, and her husband Emmett McCarty."_

 _Edward, too, took a deep breath and stepped first to Emmett. "Emmett – we've met before. Nice to see you again."_

" _We weren't properly introduced before," corrected Emmett with a grin. "Good to meet you, man."_

" _Thanks," replied Edward gratefully. He turned to Rosalie, who stood with her arms folded, resting her weight on one hip. Though he held out his hand to shake hers, her body language was very closed, and I was starting to fear that she wouldn't give Edward a chance. With my eyes, I pleaded with her – begging her to shake his hand._

 _After a few seconds my father cleared his throat, and it had the same effect on Rosie as it had when she was a little girl – spurring her into doing the right thing. She put her hand out and clasped Edward's._

" _It's a pleasure to meet you, Rosalie," he said cordially. Though I was dying from the awkwardness of this situation, my heart jumped a bit that he was trying so hard to be polite to her, even in the face of her outright rejection of him. He continued, "Jasper talks about your family all the time – I've heard so much about you."_

 _Finally she spoke; though once she did, I wished she hadn't. "I've heard a lot about you too," she replied flatly._

" _Lee-Lee…" Emmett warned her in an undertone; but the awkwardness of the situation was interrupted by a piercing little voice._

" _Uncle Jay," said Brandon excitedly, "now me!"_

" _Of course," I said brightly, trying to be positive. "Edward, this is my nephew Brandon."_

" _Hello, Brandon," said Edward, and reached out his hand to shake. Brandon put out the wrong hand; and Edward gently took the other and showed him how to clasp, then they solemnly shook. Brandon giggled when they were done._

 _Then I took Gabey from Mama. Being in such close proximity to someone he didn't know, he immediately laid his head on my shoulder and put his first two fingers in his mouth. "And this is Gabriel – Gabe, we call him." Edward seemed to realize that Gabe needed a much more passive approach when confronted by someone new. Instead of reaching out to shake, he simply tilted his head a bit to meet Gabe's line of sight; then smiled gently and gave him a little wave. "Hi, Gabe," he said quietly. "I've heard a lot about you, and your brother, too. Your Uncle Jay talks about you two the most." Gabe rewarded his efforts with a small grin. Watching him interact with my nephews warmed my heart, in spite of my disappointment in Rosie._

 _Once the introductions were complete, my mom said, "Well, let's not stand here in the kitchen all afternoon. Come on in, kids – we'll have a cool drink on the deck." I handed Gabe back to Rosie and everyone filed out of the kitchen._

 _Everyone, that is, except Edward. When I was almost to the sliding door I turned to say something to him, and realized he was leaning back against the countertop. His hands were clasped and his eyes were downcast. I came to stand beside him, and put my arm around his waist. We stood silently for a few moments with me running my fingers through his hair, and then he laid his head on my shoulder._

" _That didn't go so well," he said simply, and I felt awful for him – he sounded so sad._

" _Emmett was nice," I said quietly, "and the boys..." He didn't respond. "Yeah, I know," I conceded. "Rosie was…awful. I guarantee Dad and Mama are telling her right now how rude she was."_

" _Is that supposed to make me feel better?" he asked morosely. "Your parents are going to give her hell so she'll act nicer? I don't want her to pretend to like me."_

" _Give it some time," I suggested. "Maybe she just needs to observe us together first, to see how you are with me; and then she'll realize that you are kind, and loving, and intelligent…and that you're not going anywhere." He smiled, and I continued, "Besides, she's only one person. You've got five of them on your side. My parents know we're meant for each other."_

" _Yeah?" he asked, his eyes brightening at this news._

" _Of course," I nodded. "They can see it already, in the short amount of time we've been here. And Rosie will too, once she pulls her head out of her ass far enough that she can actually see."_

 _He chuckled at this, kissed me, and then pushed away from the counter, reaching his hand to me to pull me along. Hand-in-hand, we strolled out to the deck and joined my family._

 _-o-_

 _Over the next two days, we actually had a good time. We visited with my parents a lot. Edward, Emmett, Dad and I had a great game of basketball in the driveway Saturday morning – Em and Dad versus Edward and me – and the little boys cheered from the sidelines. Em always took trash-talk to a higher level than most, and even Edward wasn't exempt from his constant stream of good-natured insults. He focused on the game, allowing most of them to roll off; though he got in the occasional wry comeback that left Emmett gaping and Dad and I snickering._

 _Saturday night we all went out for dinner for Dad's birthday. It wasn't easy trying to figure out what to get my dad for Christmas and birthdays, but this year I knew he would appreciate it. It was something relatively simply, actually – a digital photo frame that I had loaded with numerous family photos, displaying them on a rotating basis – but for him, I knew it was perfect. He had often remarked that it was getting harder and harder to narrow down his favorite family photos to put in his office at work; yet he really hated clutter, so he had no more than five or six in total. When he unwrapped the gift and saw the pictures cycling through – Rosie and Em's wedding portrait, pictures of Dad and Mama when they were young, baby photos of the boys, even a couple of Edward and I – he was literally speechless for several moments. Working for a high-tech company, you'd think he would have realized the existence of such a thing; but Dad was never one to acquire gadgets solely because they were available._

 _That night as we sat at the restaurant, I looked around the table at the faces of the people I loved more than anyone in the world, and realized that this was the first of many such dinners to come. Even Rosie had thawed a bit towards Edward, having watched him read Gabe a story and play an endless game of catch in the backyard with Brandon. She was civil, at least; and the evening went beautifully._

 _The following morning, Rosie and I cooked breakfast for everyone. This was our Mother's Day tradition, rather than taking Mama out to some overcrowded restaurant for brunch. Rosie made a quiche; I made sausages and waffles, and cut up fresh strawberries and oranges. Mama always insisted that she didn't want gifts for Mother's Day – just wanted her children with her. As usual, we ignored her request. Mama had gone without a lot of personal luxuries when we were younger; Dad's income wasn't always at the executive level, and Mama was a stay-at-home mom. They sent us both to private school; and then put us through college with minimal loans at the end of it all. Even though things had changed and they could easily afford the luxuries now, Rosie and I wanted to give her some of the things she had sacrificed when we were young. This year we had gone in together to purchase her a day of pampering at one of the upscale spas in Austin._

 _She loved the gift, of course; told us both we "shouldn't have", and got a little teary. Just after we'd finished breakfast, I heard her call her good friend Diane to tell her about the gift. That was how I really knew it was a hit._

 _By the time the weekend was over and we were ready to fly back to Seattle, Edward had cemented his place in our family. The boys adored him – Brandon started calling him Uncle E, and Gabe voluntarily gave him a hug before he went down for his nap on Sunday afternoon. Em bestowed the highest praise he could, solemnly telling Rosie how impressed he was by how much Edward could eat. My dad clapped his hand on Edward's shoulder and called him 'son'; and my mother simply beamed every time Edward and I displayed a bit of affection to each other._

 _But the biggest shock and the greatest source of happiness was Rosie's farewell to Edward. After all our farewells and hugs were exchanged, once the boys were strapped into the rental SUV and Em had started it up, Rosie got back out of the truck for a moment. She strode up to Edward and threw her arms around him. Shocked, he didn't reciprocate for a moment, but then tentatively put his arms around her waist. When she released him, she said, "I know I was rude to you on Friday, Edward, and I'm sorry. I am very protective of my little brother; I want the best for him. I can see now he already has it."_

I smile again, as I do every time I relive that memory. I know Rosie's admission that day cost her a lot, to concede that she was wrong; but I also know that she was never so happy to have been wrong in her life. Since then, she has been as great a source of support for us as any of our other close family members have.

Thinking about meeting family reminds me of the first time I met Alice, about three weeks after we got back together – it was significantly different from when Edward met Rosie.

 _I ground my denim-clad hips into Edward's, and he groaned as he opened his knees to take me between his legs, which he then wrapped around my back. The leather-clad couch squeaked beneath the weight of our bodies – mine on top of his, writhing as we kissed passionately. We had already ditched our t-shirts, and his smooth chest pressing against mine was heaven. I moaned as he placed little sucking kisses up and down my neck. I was just about to reach for the button on his jeans when the building intercom buzzed, scaring the shit out of me._

 _I jumped, and he said, "Shit – who the fuck is that?" He switched on the TV and changed it to the channel that showed the front door camera. Standing at the door was a young woman I'd only seen in pictures._

" _Alice," he groaned. "Good to see she hasn't lost that impeccable sense of timing." He pursed his lips and said, "We_ _ **could**_ _ignore it, pretend we're not home."_

 _I shook my head. "I'm sure she's seen your car, beautiful. Ignoring her probably isn't a stepping stone to rebuilding your relationship. It's okay – let her in. I'd like to meet her."_

 _He nodded. "Sorry you don't have more time to prepare."_

" _No worries," I assured him. "I'll go to the bathroom and straighten myself up, and then I'll come out once she's already in."_

 _A few moments later, after putting my shirt back on and straightening my hair in the bathroom mirror, I came out of Edward's room to see him and Alice sitting on the couch. She saw me and stood up to meet me._

 _Edward made the introductions. "Alice, this is Jasper Whitlock. Jasper, my sister Alice Cullen."_

" _Nice to meet you, Alice," I said, smiling as I reached to shake her hand._

 _She took my hand and as we shook, she said, "Nice to meet you too. I've been looking forward to meeting you since Mother and Dad gave you such a glowing review."_

" _Jesus, Alice," said Edward. "You make him sound like a book or something."_

 _She elbowed him in the ribs. "You know what I mean," she said. "Anyways, I didn't realize you were here – I hope I'm not intruding."_

 _Edward rolled his eyes where she couldn't see him as I replied, "Not at all. Have a seat. Do you want a coffee or something?"_

" _No thanks," she answered. "I don't drink coffee – I have a lot of energy as it is and coffee makes me a little insane."_

" _How about you, beautiful? Coffee?" I asked._

 _Alice looked as though she was again opening her mouth to respond when Edward interrupted. "Sure, I'd love some. Thanks."_

 _I ignored Alice's gaping mouth as I turned to go to the kitchen. As I left the room I heard her ask him in a hushed tone, "He calls you_ _**beautiful** _ _?"_

 _I couldn't hear Edward's reply – only some whispers as I scooped the coffee into the pot. At one point there was a loud burst of laughter, and I was wildly curious as to what they were laughing about; but gave them their privacy. After I started the coffeemaker I put the cream in two coffee mugs for Edward and I – having convinced him that adding the cream, then the coffee, was the only way to drink it – and then cleared my throat to warn them that I was re-entering the room._

 _They were sitting together on the couch, their heads close to each other to facilitate their confidential conversation. When I appeared in the doorway, they each sat up, ending whatever private conversation they'd been having. The rest of the evening was spent chatting with Alice and Edward; Alice told us about the people she was working with as she completed her practicum at the Child Services department. It was her first experience with a working environment that consisted of more than a few people; and we laughed out loud as she described in detail the Office Space-like atmosphere promoted by a few of the managers._

 _It was an easy, comfortable visit – aside from the blue balls Edward and I were both suffering. Alice was intelligent, funny and obviously very accepting of me and my relationship with Edward. Feeling like I had now won over the entire Cullen family, I was on cloud nine as Edward and I said goodbye to her that night; and once she was gone, I attacked him, taking him and ravaging him with a voracity I'd never felt before._

Just what I need – finding myself with a hard-on while we're cramped into these tiny coach seats on an airplane. Edward could never be a member of the Mile High club, as it would require him to stay awake longer than five minutes. I cover my lap with the edge of his blanket, and then I lean back to try to relax a bit as well, before we get to Austin and have to deal with the traffic there. I am grateful, at least, that Edward talked me into flying down to Austin on Tuesday instead of tomorrow – the airports aren't as busy and we won't have the day-before-the-holiday traffic to deal with.

-o-

I wake up as Edward gently shakes my arm. "Hey, angel," he says softly, "time to put your seatbelt on." I slide the belt till it clicks shut, and then Edward hands me a piece of gum to help with the ear popping. I'm grateful he flies as often as he does – he always thinks to pack these things. I, on the other hand, think of it after I'm already on the plane and it's too late to do anything about it.

A couple of hours later, we're pulling up again to my parents' house. This is our third visit now, including the trip in May and another we made in September. As well, my parents came up to visit me for the Independence Day long weekend, and came with us to the Cullens' annual Fourth of July party. Our parents were fast friends almost immediately, being more or less the same age and having lived ten minutes away from each other in Seattle for years. Since then, they speak on the phone at least a couple of times a month. Esme always assures my mom that I'm being well taken care of here in Seattle, and Dad and Carlisle spend way too much time talking baseball. Since neither Edward nor I are the least bit interested in sports, it's nice they can bond over that.

Edward and I pile out of the car, each of us having stripped off our sweaters during the car ride. The chilly damp of Seattle is but a distant memory here in Austin, where fall has only just begun. Mama and Dad meet us at the side door, welcoming us both with open arms. Dinner that night is relaxed and comfortable; and when the day is over and we snuggle into my old double bed – one of us spooning the other seems to be about the only way we can fit into this bed, not that I'm complaining – we're exhausted but happy.

The next day is another whirlwind of activity as we get ready for Rosie and Emmett's arrival with the boys. Mama sends Edward and me to the grocery store to get a few items she still needs for Thanksgiving dinner, and when we return the gang has arrived. Again, the joyful noise fills my parents' kitchen as we all greet each other. Even Gabey, who hasn't seen Edward since May, remembers him and his face lights up in a brilliant smile. The boys are now five, and two and a half; and the changes that have taken place in the six months since I last saw them, both amaze me and break my heart. Brandon is in kindergarten, and is excelling both in his academics and in the gymnastics classes he loves so much. Gabey knows all his colors and can count to ten; and the baby look has all but disappeared from his face. It makes me a bit gloomy that I now live so far away from them; I used to see them at least monthly when San Diego was only a short plane ride away.

When we're snuggling in bed at the end of the day, Edward asks me what's wrong, having sensed my melancholy. I tear up a bit as I share my regret over not being in their lives as much now. He listens, brushes away the few tears that brim over my lids, and kisses me. "I love that you love them so much," he murmurs. "You're so amazing with them, Kas; and they adore you. You _are_ in their lives, every single day, even if you're not physically present every day; because you're in their hearts."

Yeah, like _that_ doesn't make me cry even harder than before. Even after I've calmed and Edward's slow, steady breathing tells me he's fast asleep, I lie awake thinking. I think about a child – just a hypothetical child, no one specific – for whom I _could_ be physically present every day. For the first time in my life, I actually give serious consideration a child of my own – of _our_ own. The thought seems crazy at first, completely ridiculous – _us,_ with a child? – but I can't stop thinking about it. When I fall asleep I dream of a roomful of children – a toddler girl who's unmistakably Chinese...a tween boy who looks Hispanic...a tall, slim teenaged boy with familiar green eyes and bronze curls...

Even in my dream, I snort at myself. _Sure, Kas – all you have to do is get yourself knocked up..._

On Thanksgiving Day the house is, surprisingly, quieter than the day before – the exception, of course, being the kitchen. No one is coming and going; it's just our family, enjoying spending time together. We have a game of touch football in the backyard, and everyone joins in, including Mama and the little boys. There is much shouting and laughter, and the game culminates with Edward scooping up Brandon and carrying him into the end zone for the final touchdown. Brandon gets to do a victory dance, and revels in being the hero of the game.

We have an amazing, traditional Thanksgiving dinner. Our family isn't religious, but every year we go around the dinner table before we eat and tell what we're thankful for. When it comes to Edward's turn, he turns to me, taking my hand and kissing it; then he looks around the table and says softly, "And that goes for all of you, as well. Thank you." It's an incredibly touching moment – that is, until Emmett extends his hand across the table to where Edward sits. Edward gives him a fist bump; but Em's hand remains where it is. Edward looks at him blankly for a moment until Em clarifies, "Dude, where's my kiss?"

After dinner Rosie and I do the dishes, and Em gives the boys their baths. Edward and my parents all disappear for a good hour – to where, and whether separately or together, I don't know. Rosie and I are putting away the last of the clean pots and pans, Edward comes into the kitchen and pretends to be disappointed that he's missed all the dishwashing fun. I give him a smack on the ass, and Rosie says, "Um...guess I should go see if Em needs help wrangling the boys into bed." I smirk at her back as she retreats from the kitchen.

Edward takes my hand and says, "Let's go out in the backyard."

"It's dark out," I reply dubiously.

"Exactly," he replies with a wicked grin, and I can't get out the door fast enough. We haven't fooled around since Monday night, before we left Seattle; and sleeping in such close quarters with him every night has been painful – literally. Waking with morning wood and having to quickly rub one out in the shower just to take the pressure off, when he's right on the other side of the door – it's just not right.

Thank goodness for my parents' spacious, tree-lined backyard, into which the street lights can't filter – making it pitch black. I stand, my back leaning against the trunk of a particularly large cottonwood. Edward kneels in front of me and undoes the button fly of my jeans, quickly tugging them down, then my boxer briefs after them. My already-engorged cock points directly to the place it wants to be – in his hot, wet mouth. Wasting no time, he takes the entire length down his throat. Though I'm trying to be conscious of our noise level, I can't help the moan that escapes my throat. He releases me long enough to caution, "Shhh," and then returns to plying his talents on my rock-hard cock.

It feels _so_ good, and he's _such_ a pro at it; and embarrassingly, I'm shooting my load down his throat in under two minutes, my ass clenching and my hips thrusting towards his exquisite face. When I'm coherent again, I pull him up, kissing him deeply as I spin him around so that he is now the one with his back to the tree. After I resituate my briefs and jeans, I divest him of his – or at least as far as his knees – and this time it's my turn to drop to my knees before him and worship his beautiful cock.

He hisses as I suck on the knob, sliding my lips slightly back and forth over the ridge around the head. He whispers hoarsely, "You keep doing that, angel, and I'm not going to be able to stand."

I grin around his cock and pull away. "That's the point," I whisper back; and he moans ever so softly, his hands coming to my head and stroking through my curls. Little gasps emanate from him and his breathing accelerates as he stalks the moment of his release. Soon he's there, and his hands hold my head still as he fucks my mouth, whispering, "Fuck, yeah...so beautiful, so beautiful...I love you...god...coming!" He freezes, only his cock pulsing as he fills my mouth with his nectar. I swallow every drop, savoring the taste of him.

This time, rather than him pulling me up, he pulls up his drawers and sinks down to meet me. He leans against the tree, spreading his legs and I lie against him, my hips at a 90-degree angle to his, but my upper body angled towards him. He holds me tight, stroking my hair, whispering sweet words to me for a long time before we make our way into the house and up to bed.

The next day is, of course, Black Friday; and it is this day that we've chosen to fly home. Rosie and Emmett will be staying another day – Rosie will hit the Black Friday sales with Mama and they'll likely both get most of their Christmas shopping done. Em and Dad plan to take the boys to the park; but since our flight doesn't leave till late afternoon, Edward and I volunteer to take the kids, and let Em and Dad stay home to watch the college football games.

The morning goes by in no time, and we all have an absolute riot. After the park, we take the boys out for lunch. They're both ravenous; though poor Gabey is so tired out that he can barely keep his eyes open long enough to eat.

An hour later, we've all returned home; Mama and Rosie as well. Soon Edward and I will have to leave to get to the airport, but I'm having trouble tearing myself away. I stand beside the crib in Rosie's old room where Gabey is sleeping soundly. For a long time I stay, watching him sleep. His beautiful eyelashes brush his cherub cheeks; his lips are parted slightly. "I'm sorry I won't see you again for a long time, Gabey," I whisper. "I'll miss you so much."

From the corner of my eye I see movement at the door; Edward stands watching me, a sympathetic look coloring his beautiful face. He holds out his hand to me. "Time to go, angel," he says in a barely-audible whisper.

I give Gabe one last look, and then I take Edward's hand and allow him to draw me into his arms. "I love you," he says softly, holding me as I bury my face in his neck. I just nod, not trusting myself to speak. He gives me a few moments to gather myself and then, hand-in-hand, we walk downstairs together.

Edward has already loaded our luggage into the car; and there my family are gathered to say goodbye to us. After hugs, kisses and endearments, Edward and I finally pull away from the place that, until eight months ago, I considered my home.

Now, my home sits beside me in our rental car, concentrating on navigating the Austin holiday traffic to the airport. Before Edward, I never really experienced pain; but neither had I known overwhelming joy, consuming passion, or the knowledge that I'd found the person with whom I'd spend the rest of my life.

I spend the flight watching Edward sleep; for the second time today, I marvel at how beautiful fanned eyelashes are against a smooth cheek, how winning pouting lips look when parted slightly in repose. We have a nonstop flight back to Seattle, thanks to Edward's foresight in booking this trip months ago; and four hours after leaving Austin we descend toward Sea-Tac. I hate to wake him; I do it as gently as I can, softly kissing his jaw from his chin to his ear, where I whisper, "Time to come back to earth, beautiful."

He smiles before opening his eyes, and murmurs, "Always fly with an angel."

Sometimes we are just disgustingly happy.

Finally home again, it's still early evening Seattle time. In our absence, each of us has received a letter from the sexual health resource centre where we've had our recent STI testing. We're both clean, and though I wasn't truly concerned about myself, I know Edward has been nervous about the results of this test, in particular. We've been monogamous for a little over seven months now, and getting the news that we're both still clean is a huge weight off his mind. He doesn't say it, but it's evident in his demeanor.

We have the whole weekend ahead of us still, to just cocoon ourselves here in the apartment and enjoy being together. We relax on the couch in front of the TV, watching the first holiday movie of the season. Edward sits behind me, his long legs extended down the length of the couch; I am nestled between his legs, leaning back against his chest. Since we've both seen this movie many times, we talk quietly throughout it. There's something I've wanted to tell him since Thanksgiving dinner, but have been waiting to be truly alone before saying it.

"Thanks for saying what you did at the dinner table," I tell him, "about my family. I know this hasn't always been easy for you, but it meant so much to me; and I know it did to them as well."

"It's the truth," he replies. "When I think about how my life has changed since this time last year? It's practically unrecognizable. I will never be the same person I was before I met you; the night you came into my life, the die was cast. It was an unstoppable force…I couldn't fight it, no matter how hard I tried. "

I close my eyes, resting my head back against his shoulder with a deep sigh of contentment. "This is where I want to be," I murmur. For several moments we sit there in silent commune, his arms wrapped around me. In a moment he shifts under me slightly; his left arm leaves me and it feels as though he's digging in his pants pocket for something. In a moment, though, his arm comes back around me and stays there for several minutes longer.

Eventually he whispers, "Are you happy?"

"Deliriously, criminally happy," I reply, my eyes still closed. His left hand moves over mine, gently tracing circles over the back of my hand, then soft lines down each of my fingers, starting with my thumb, headed toward my pinky. At the tip of my ring finger, he hooks one finger under mine, lifting it and slipping something onto it in one quick, fluid movement.

My eyes pop open. On my finger is a ring. The band is titanium, with its telltale gunmetal grey color. There is an inlay of platinum around the band, set into it so that the band feels completely smooth to the touch. The finish is a matte satin. Set into the band are three square diamonds that sparkle and glimmer in the halogen lights that shine from far above our heads on the high ceilings.

I am speechless, literally speechless, as I gaze at the stunning, masculine ring on my finger. For a moment I hold my hand up, staring at it; then I shift so I can look into Edward's eyes. I still can't speak, taken entirely by surprise. Edward is silent, watching me with a look that is at once joyful and nervous. Finally he speaks, his melodic voice full of feeling.

"I adore you," he says simply. "I want to be with you for the rest of my life, Kas. I don't care whether the government tells us we're not allowed to do this legally; you and I both know that no government on earth could separate us. I want to be surrounded by the people we love and pledge myself only to you, for the rest of my life. Kas, please say you want the same thing. Please – be my husband, and take me as yours?"

During his speech my heart has begun to overflow with the love I have for Edward. Of course I have thought about us making it official someday – if and when it becomes legal in Washington State. I had no idea that Edward was giving it serious consideration now; but, my god, he has a _ring._ A ring that now gleams on my finger. My earth feels complete.

"Yes, beautiful," I whisper, tears rising to my eyes. "I will be your husband, all of my life, and you will be mine."

Edward, too, has tears in his eyes as he crushes me to his chest, kissing me passionately, frantically, as if to pull me inside his body. "I love you," he whispers frantically between kisses. "I love you, I love you." The electricity between us is overwhelming. I _need_ him – need to feel his warm body around me, need to be deep inside him and watch his beautiful face as his body is overcome with pleasure.

Pulling away from him, I jump up of the couch and grab his hand. "Let's hit the shower, beautiful," I urge hoarsely.

He groans in response and is right behind me as we dash through the bedroom and into the bathroom. We each strip off our own clothes, shedding them as quickly as possible. Edward starts the shower with its dual shower heads while I grab a condom and lube from the night table. I step into the shower, where the sight of Edward's gorgeous, smooth, _aroused_ body nearly makes my knees buckle. I put the condom and lube on the ledge in the shower, and force myself to slow down. I want this to be memorable for both of us.

"Turn around," I tell him, "and put your hands on the ledge." He complies; I wet a clean washcloth and soap it up. Tenderly, I wash his body, starting at the back of his neck, down his shoulders and arms; his back and chest, being particularly careful to clean his nipples. He shudders as the terry loops brush across the hard nubs. I rinse and resoap the cloth, and then I carefully wash his cock, his groin and his balls, and continue downward, to his perineum and up the crack of his ass. Again he shakes slightly, moaning as I cleanse his most sensitive areas.

I pull him into the shower spray, watching as the water cascades down his exquisite body. He tilts his head back, closing his eyes as the droplets rinse him clean. When he is rinsed completely, I take hold of his hips, turning him around so that his back is now to the ledge; then encourage him to back up until his ass is on the ledge. He sits, and together we bring his legs up, resting his feet on the shelf where it extends around the side walls of the shower. He is spread wide for me, waiting and hungry and unspeakably beautiful and _mine_.

He picks up the condom to hand it to me, but I shake my head, saying, "Not yet." I slide his ass a bit closer to the ledge, then I bend down to take his cock in my mouth. He gasps and then moans, his ass cheeks clenching enough that it thrusts his cock deeper into my mouth. I suck his cock for only a moment, then lick my way down it, spending a few minutes sucking and mouthing his balls. Lower still, to his perineum, pressing against it with my tongue. Finally, I reach his ass, and his hands thread into my hair, balling into fists as my tongue worships the delicate tissues. He pulls me close and I thrust my tongue into him as best I can. The sounds that are escaping his mouth are so carnal, so shamelessly needy that I can't help reaching down to run my fingers around the head of my own rock-hard cock.

Soon his hands in my hair are gently tugging my head upwards, and he begs, "Ungh, fuck, baby, I need you. Please, Kas," he pleads, "fill me up, make me yours."

Straightening, I grab the condom and rip open the wrapper. Quickly I lube my cock and his ass. He is watching me through half-closed lids; his chest heaves as he awaits the moment of ingress, when his body accepts mine and we are fused together.

I rest one hand on his shoulder and bring my face close to his as I position my aching cock at his ready hole. Looking into his eyes, I don't need to ask; he gives me a tiny nod, and I begin the slow journey to the center of his body. Gradually, millimeters at a time, I press forward as I repeat the same phrase over and over. "You are mine…you are mine…you are mine…"

His eyes are wild, locked on mine as he nods frantically, responding each time my words claim him. "Yes…I'm yours…forever…never let me go…so good…Kas…I'm yours…deep…"

It's the most intense fucking thing I've ever experienced. When my throbbing cock is at last fully surrounded by him, I have to pause, my legs trembling. Edward pants heavily, resisting the urge to thrust as he keeps up his verbal encouragement. "Ungh…Kas…I've never…felt like this…only you…do this to me…for the rest…of my life…I love you."

With his body quaking around me and his words in my ear, it's fucking difficult to calm myself enough that I can start to thrust. When I am at last able to withdraw somewhat, his words change to moans; and now mine join him. I bend my head to his chest to take his nipple into my mouth, licking, sucking and gently scraping my teeth against it. My hands come to rest on his hips, and I grasp them tightly to steady them as I descend again into his molten depths.

I am so fucking hard, and he is so goddamn tight, and the passion and love between us threaten to consume us. My hands move from his hips, to wrap around his mid back, and I pull him as close to me as possible. He's whimpering, cursing, twisting, writhing against me, his midsection rising to meet me each time I thrust into him. He reaches between us for his cock and gently twists his fingers around the head of it, and his whimpers become moans. The pressure is building in us and between us, and we are fucking powerless to control it.

Our moans are nearly constant now. The world draws tighter around us, and no one exists here but us – Edward and me. Smaller and smaller, the universe recedes, molding, shaping itself to these two bodies that writhe together; now pressing, pushing against two, merging them into one. When they are no longer distinguishable as two, the cosmos tightens further, as a beam of light that is brought into sharp focus. When it has been reduced to an ultrafine point, there is no sound, no movement for an instant, as the souls within it can no longer push against it…

…and then the beam of light is a laser that burns through the barrier, and the contents, finally released, explode amid keening cries and pleasure that floods the room like light travelling through fiber optic cable. There are no words, no rational thought – only the mushroom cloud of rapture as it burns through every atom of their being, and beyond.

-o-

We lie together in our bed. We're not intertwined as we so often are; instead we are each on our sides, facing each other; not speaking, just looking. I'm looking into his eyes and his soul. Looking at the face upon which I will gaze lovingly…and occasionally even angrily…for the rest of my life. Looking at the one who will tenderly hold and fiercely protect my heart, for all our days.

Looking at my future…my life…my love.

-o-


	30. Chapter 30

-o-

 _Edward_

I wake in the morning, feeling deliciously sore and perfectly satisfied. Last night, the night Jasper agreed to become my husband, was the best night of my life. Better than the night he agreed to take me back; better than the night we first made love again after we reconciled. I am happy – completely euphoric.

I stretch my stiff muscles, rolling towards Jasper's side of the bed. To my surprise, he is still fast asleep. He is an early riser, and he's _always_ up before me. He must be completely exhausted. I lie beside him for a long time, just watching him sleep. He sleeps on his stomach, clutching his pillow; his face turned towards me. He's so fucking beautiful, with his blonde curls and his gorgeous, perfect mouth. I want so much to capture that top lip and suck it into my mouth.

Instead, I gently kiss the ring that now resides on his finger; and I get up, letting him sleep. It's Saturday morning; we don't have to go anywhere or do anything if we don't want to. I figure a celebratory breakfast is in order; and carbs be damned, I decide on waffles and sausage – one of Kas' favorite breakfasts. After the coffee is brewing and the sausages are cooking, I pull out my Belgian waffle maker and start it heating up.

Half an hour later, I have a stack of waffles keeping warm in the oven; maple syrup, whipped cream and fruit; sausages perfectly browned; and a steaming pot of coffee. I debate whether to bring it to him in bed; but finally decide just to bring him the coffee and tempt him out of bed with that.

I place the coffee cup close to his face and waft the smell towards him. As I thought it would, the elixir opens his eyes – he can't resist the aroma of fresh coffee. He sees me close to him and inhales deeply; his eyes close again, but I know I've got him.

"Mmm," he murmurs. "Smells good…and do I smell…sausage?"

"You bet," I reply. "I've got a breakfast feast waiting at the table…waffles, fruit, sausage…all your favorites."

"I could get used to this," he says with a sleepy smile.

"You should," I reply, and lay a kiss on his lips. "Come on, sexy; let's eat."

A few moments later he joins me at the table, and we dig in. Throughout breakfast I catch him staring at the ring on his finger. Sometimes he tries to be discreet about it, but he spends most of the meal looking at the smooth band with its glittering diamonds. He looks as happy as I feel; I smile indulgently each time I notice him checking out his ring.

"So what are our plans for today?" I ask.

" _My_ plans are to stay at home and snuggle up with my fiancé," he says smugly. "Actually…I suppose we have some calls to make. My parents…your parents…your sister. I should call my parents now before Rosie and Em leave…"

"Your parents already know, angel," I admit. "That is, they knew I planned to ask you once we got home."

"Really? You told them?"

"I spoke to them about it Thursday night after dinner," I tell him.

"Ohh," he says, recognition dawning on his face. " _That's_ where you went to after dinner."

"Yeah," I nod. "I was telling them about the ring – I didn't take it with me to Austin – and then I asked them."

"You asked their permission?"

"More like I asked for their blessing. You're an adult, Jasper, and that whole 'asking for permission' idea has always seemed bizarre to me – you know, from back when women were property and weddings were a business transaction. But I know you would never be happy without your family's support. Fortunately, they were thrilled. We have their blessing."

He smiles broadly. "And do Rosie and Em know?"

"No," I shake my head. "I thought I should leave _someone_ for you to tell."

"What about your parents?"

"Oh yeah, they know. They were absolutely beside themselves when I told them I planned to ask you. They adore you – you know that." He smiles broadly. "My mom put me in touch with her jeweler. He doesn't work with titanium, but directed me to the person who did. That guy created the ring I had envisioned for you."

"Wow, you designed this yourself?" His eyes widen as he gazes at the ring yet again.

"I had a very specific idea of what I wanted." I take his hand, lifting it to examine the ring again. "He brought it to fruition."

"It's perfect…it's…" He gazes at it. "Just perfect. That's the only word." He pauses, then asks, "This guy that did the ring…where would I find him?"

"Why?"

"Because now that I'm wearing an engagement ring, I think it's only fair that my fiancé wears one too."

-o-

Our families are thrilled; nearly as happy as Jasper and I are. Harry and Anneliese have expected our call, knowing that I planned to ask Jasper when we returned home to Seattle. Rosalie and Emmett are still there, and she answers the phone. When Kas tells her the news, I can hear the scream from across the room. He winces and holds the phone away from his ear, grinning broadly at me. "She's happy," he mutters. "Either that, or she just saw a spider." His parents each get on the phone to talk to us; then Em. As we speak to each of them, we can hear the others in the background, including the little boys. The whole group is abuzz with happiness, and the love reaches us even through the phone lines.

My parents, too, have been waiting for it to be official. They invite us over to celebrate; and on Sunday evening we visit, Alice joining us as well. My dad brings a bottle of champagne up from the wine cellar, and the five of us toast to a lifetime of happiness.

-o-

Our news is welcomed by all whom we've come to consider our loved ones. Outside our family, this includes Kathleen, as well as Ashton, whom she's been dating officially since the spring. It includes Jack, who has become a close friend to both of us. It includes Jacob and his partner Nathan; Jacob was ecstatic to find out that Jasper had found the love of his life. The circle of acquaintances Jasper made when he returned to Seattle – Eve, Rachel, and Liz; Gareth and Lily, and their new daughter Sarah – has bloomed into a wonderfully vibrant group of intelligent and trusted friends, to both of us. They too share our joy.

Outside of that group, I have made my first actual friend in years – Luke, an art critic. Jasper and I were introduced to him during the summer when we attended an art opening with Gareth and Lily. Gareth knew Luke from the academia world; and when we started chatting, it turns out Luke and I had attended SFAI at the same time, though in different programs. We clicked as friends almost immediately; and now that we've been friends for a while, our conversations are lively and stimulating. Luke is always fun to hang out with.

The first time he meets our friend Rachel, they are instantly taken to each other – the spark is nearly audible when their eyes first met. This time it's our turn to smile and wink at each other as we watch them get to know each other; and I whisper to Jasper later that it looks like we'll be spending a lot more time with Rachel.

-o-

In early December, we toss around some ideas for the wedding; but Jasper suggests that we relax and enjoy the holiday, and then get down to hardcore planning in January. It seems like a sensible plan, and I agree. We'll be celebrating the holiday here in Seattle with my family, since we spent Thanksgiving with Kas' family. Despite his excitement about spending our first holiday together, I know he's fighting off a bit of a funk because he's never been apart from his family on Christmas.

I've been racking my brain trying to think of the perfect gift to get him; and then one day in the second week of December, it hits me. I immediately put in a call to Rosalie, who adores the idea. Within two days I find myself on a plane to San Diego, with all my photography equipment in tow. Twenty-four hours later, I am making the flight back to Seattle, exhausted but satisfied with my accomplishments in California. I'm sure that Jasper, as well as the rest of his family, will love and appreciate this gift; and I hope he won't be upset that I didn't tell him the absolute truth about the job I was doing in California.

I edit like a demon while he's at work, to finish my part of the project; and then I deliver it to where the next phase will be completed. A few times I wonder whether it's enough – I know he'll love it, but it's not a really _expensive_ gift. I could buy him just about anything – an expensive watch, any number of electronic gadgets, a trip to just about anywhere – but those are just things. When the item is finished and I go pick it up, I know I've made the right choice - it practically screams his name. I actually get a lump in my throat thinking about what his face will look like when he sees it.

On Christmas Eve, we decline invitations to spend the evening with friends or family, deciding that the night before Christmas will always be just for us. We make love on a blanket on the floor beside the Christmas tree. Afterwards, we lie, Jasper spooning me, looking at the fire that burns in the fireplace before us. Jasper pulls me close to his chest, snuggling his face into my neck, and then he reaches into the small drawer in his coffee table. He places a little black velvet box on the floor, about a foot in front of my face. It is wrapped with a gauzy silver ribbon. I recognize this box – it's from the jeweler who created Kas' engagement ring.

"This is not your Christmas gift," he whispers, "but the jeweler called me yesterday to tell me it was ready, and there was just no way I could wait to give it to you." He releases me so we can both sit up, facing each other, still completely naked. I hold the box in my hands, looking at it, slowly turning it over in my fingers. I have no idea what kind of design he has picked out, or whether his matches mine – he has refused to give me even a hint. I look up at him and he is gazing steadily at me, his eyes shining as they reflect the lights from the Christmas tree and from the fire.

"Aren't you going to open it?" he murmurs.

I smile softly and pull the ribbon, which falls off into my hands. I open the hinged lid, and there it is – my engagement ring. The band is identical to Jasper's, but instead of having three square diamonds set into the band, it has one round diamond in a bezel-setting, raised slightly from the face of the band. I love that it is unique, slightly different from his, but still has the same band. I stare it in wonder for a few moments, tilting it one way and then the other; the many facets pick up the lights from around the room, reflecting them as though a fire burns within the diamond itself.

It's perfect.

Which is why I hand the box back to Jasper. He looks at me, his mouth open, in shock. Before he can speak, I ask, "Would you do the honors?"

The look on his face is pure relief as the misunderstanding is averted. "Of course," he smiles. He holds my hand in his right hand and with his left, he places the ring on my finger. "I can't wait until you're my husband," he says, and leans forward to press his lips softly to mine. Even though the question has already been asked and answered; and though I knew this ring was coming, now that I'm actually wearing Jasper's ring on my finger, I can't help the tears that come to my eyes.

As we pull apart, I raise my hand, tilting it as I did the box, to catch the light in the diamond. "I love it," I breathe, and Jasper catches my hand in his again, tipping it so he can see the ring on my finger.

"It suits your hand," he remarks. "Very masculine."

"I never thought I'd ever wear an engagement ring," I laugh. "For one thing, because I'm a guy; and for another thing, because I'm a gay." We both laugh at this. "And then, I never dreamed I'd find someone so completely perfect for me…"

He smiles and kisses me again, and we return to our previous position, him spooning me on the floor. His left hand rests over mine, each of us wearing our commitment to each other on our hands. I doze there until he picks me up and carries me to bed.

In the morning, we wake reasonably early. Our plan is to exchange our gifts and then head to my parents' house for the day. I insist that Kas open his first, telling him, "I already opened a present last night."

His gift is tall and wide, but not deep. He carefully removes the bow and ribbon, then the wrap, to expose the large plain-white box inside. He opens the end and slides out the gift inside; then he gasps, clapping one hand over his mouth.

The gift is a very large black poster frame, and beneath the glass are numerous custom-matted 4" x 6" photos of Brandon and Gabriel – some together, some separately. In each of the photos, they're laughing and playing on the beach in San Diego. The smaller photos surround one large 8" x 10" photo, the only one where the two are posed together, each wearing a t-shirt that says, "I love Uncle Jasper." I seldom do this sort of work, but for my beloved, I'll do anything.

He sits, speechless, examining each photo. This time he's the one with tears in his eyes. I move to sit beside him on the couch, and slip my arm around his shoulders. He looks at me and whispers, "How did you do this?"

"Yeah…when I went to California two weeks ago? It wasn't to LA. It was to San Diego," I admit with a grin. "I stayed with Rosie and Em, which was why you could only get me on my cell."

"Edward, this is just…beautiful. Thank you for knowing this would mean so much to me. I love you," he says, his voice thick with emotion.

"I love you too, angel," I murmur before pressing my lips to his. We look over the pictures for a few more minutes and I tell him a bit about the photo shoot that day, before he finally says, "Okay, your turn."

I have no idea what he's gotten me, and can't think of what I need or want, in fact. Everything I could help for has already been given to me - my wonderful partner, and our life together – which he's agreed to make permanent. What else is there that really matters?

Kas pulls a wrapped gift out from under the tree. Oddly, it is much the same shape as the gift I gave him. He says, "Okay, this might be a little ironic." But he will say no more, encouraging me to go ahead and open it.

After I've gotten through the wrapping and the box, I too, am holding a photo frame in my hands. It's an Ansel Adams, "Unicorn Peak, Thunderclouds". Kas knows it's my favorite photo by the man who established the photography department at my alma mater. "I ordered it from the Ansel Adams Gallery," he says as I gaze at the photo of the massive thunderhead that makes one feel tiny and insignificant, even holding a print of this size. "It's not a reproduction – it's a print made from…"

"From his original negative," I finish. "This is amazing."

He smiles. "Someday I'll get you an original, beautiful."

"I love it – completely. Thank you. I love you, Kas," I tell him, and lean in to kiss him. "Merry Christmas, angel."

"Merry Christmas to you, beautiful."

True to his word, when Christmas and New Year's are over, Jasper throws himself into planning the wedding. He sits up looking at magazines, looking online, trying to choose colors and catering and music…then a wrench is thrown into our plans.

We've chosen October 23 as our wedding date; but Jasper's father won't be able to get away from the office that week. He _could_ come just for the weekend, but what a whirlwind trip that would be. On the other hand, we really don't want to change our date – we've both already become attached to it. For a few days we toss around different ideas; Jasper is stressed out, and it's not a great time.

Finally I say to Kas, "You know, angel, maybe we're going at this the wrong way. Who says your father has to be here?"

Jasper looks shocked for a moment, then he sputters, "My father is going to be at my wedding! I can't believe you'd…"

"Wait," I interrupt. "Let me explain. We've been looking at this as though the only way to get married is in Seattle. But if your father can't come to our wedding here, why don't we have the wedding there?"

"In Austin…?" he says slowly, mulling the possibility. "I just assumed we'd have it here. It never even occurred to me to have it in Texas…"

"But wouldn't that solve our problem?" I continue. "No matter where we do it, we're going to have a group of people travelling to it, because our friends are in three different states. Assuming it's all the same to my parents, and I'm sure they'll be fine with it, why not do it there? Besides – the weather will still be nice in Texas in October, right?"

"Yeah," he agrees. "Late October – it'll have started to cool down by then. You know…my parents' close friends live on Lake LBJ – it's about an hour and a half west of Austin. They have this huge property right beside the lake. When Rose was planning her wedding, they offered to let her hold it on their lawn; but Rosie decided on a California wedding. Maybe we could do it there…?"

"That sounds nice – outside, by the water. We could do it at sunset, surrounded by all our friends and family? It sounds perfect."

"And then we could have a tent for the dinner and the reception…" he muses. Suddenly I can't believe we didn't think of this earlier. I'm almost certain my parents will be supportive – they'll understand what prompted this decision. Of course, now we'll be coordinating a wedding long distance. But Anneliese will help out tremendously, I'm sure; so will my mother, for that matter.

Once we've decided to go ahead with Austin, all the plans fall quickly into place. Jasper's parents are thrilled with the plan to get married there, and they're very grateful that we've made this change to our plans so that Harry can spend more than twenty-four hours with Jasper. My parents are understand completely. The Whitlocks' friends, Jim and Barb, are happy to open up their home for the wedding.

In Texas, our union will not be recognized by the state; but nor would it be if we got married in Washington. Since we aren't having a legal ceremony, we're not required to have two witnesses; instead we decide that whoever performs the ceremony will charge all those present to be our witnesses and to support us in our union.

The months fly past. Jasper's lease expires in February; and rather than renew it for another year, he gives up the apartment and moves in with me. I'm thrilled, of course; but ask him to consider carefully before he gives up his apartment. "Are you sure? You don't want us to live there? It's got a den, and a fireplace…"

"I do love this apartment. But you own your place," he reasons, "and I rent. Plus…I'm not ready to give up the place where we spent our first night together."

So we pack up his apartment and take on the task of blending two households. With some creative rearrangement of the large open living space in my loft, we manage to create two separate sitting areas. His bedroom furniture goes into storage, for the future when we will eventually get a place with a second bedroom.

Winter turns into spring, and spring to summer. The wedding plans are gelling perfectly. With some suggestions from our moms and our sisters – we have taken to calling them our Wedding Women, as they are all more than willing to voice their opinions on the planning of this event – we have decided upon a color scheme that is beautiful but still masculine. Since we're getting married outdoors, the whole wedding will be relaxed and casual; we just want people to have a wonderful time and celebrate our joy with us.

Jasper and I pick out our wedding rings. They are identical to the bands each of us wear, minus the diamonds. We each decide on our clothing for the wedding; we agree not to tell the other what we've chosen, but each of us lets the Wedding Women know our choices, so that they can be sure the whole thing will coordinate. Apparently we do well, because they all approve; neither of us has to make any changes.

As the time passes and the wedding draws closer with each day, I continue my therapy until the day my psychologist says to me, "Edward, I don't think you need to come see me anymore."

Her words catch me off guard. "What? I—what if—?"

"It's okay, Edward. I'm not going anywhere, and if you feel like you need to talk in the future, I'm always here. But you have come such a long way from when we first met last year. That man was heartbroken and terrified. He didn't have the tools to have an adult relationship with anyone, let alone an intimate relationship. Edward, you're not that man anymore. You had an argument with Jasper two weeks ago, and what did you do?"

I recall the argument. It pains me still, as it was the first real argument we'd gotten into since we moved in together. We were both tired and stressed – Jasper had been going through budget hell at work, I was on my way out of town the next day and really didn't want to leave. A conversation about boutonnieres, of all things, set off a ridiculous argument between us; all the stresses and worries we'd had over the week overwhelmed us both, and we ended up sulking in separate rooms – me in the living room, Jasper in our bedroom.

"I told Jasper that I loved him, and that I was sorry, and asked if we could just let it go and enjoy the last evening we had together before I had to go away," I answer her.

"You made the first move to make up, Edward," she points out. "You love Jasper, and you're willing to concede your point on the things that don't truly matter in the grand scheme, to make him happy and maintain your relationship."

"Yeah," I nod thoughtfully. "That's true."

"Plus…you're in a relationship where your biggest difference of opinion is about lapel flowers," she chuckles. I join in her laughter, recognizing how lucky we are that this is our greatest problem. "I'd say you're doing pretty well."

So we decide to discontinue our regular weekly appointments, with the understanding that both Jasper and I are welcome to call her in the future if we feel we need some help; in fact, she encourages me to call if there are problems, rather than allowing them to compound. Before I leave she tells me, "I want you two to succeed. I am very excited for your future, Edward. I believe you're going to be very happy; you have the tools to get through life as an intelligent, loving person. I wish you all the best."

-o-

Finally, the week of the wedding arrives. As of the weekend prior to the wedding date, I am off work for a month. Jasper is off for three weeks, but his holidays start three days before the wedding. I fly down to Austin first so I can oversee the last-minute details – Jasper is stressing about the weather, the tent, the set-up for the ceremony space, so I call and check in with him a few times a day. I want to do whatever I can to allay his fears and make this day perfect.

During one of my calls home, he mentions that we have again each received a letter from the sexual health resource centre. His letter is his most recent STI test results; I ask him to open mine. We have both agreed that this will be our final test; if nothing has shown up by now, we don't see any reason to continue to test every six months. In all honesty, we could very likely have stopped testing a year ago, but I have insisted that we extend this period, and we've continued to use condoms. I know I've likely been unreasonable, over-cautious; and that any infection would almost certainly have shown up within a six-month period. Still, given the number of people I've been with, I must be absolutely certain that I can pose no risk to Jasper – it's vital to my peace of mind.

There is a pause; I hear paper ripping as he opens the envelope. "You're clean, beautiful," he says. "And so ends another phase in our lives – the biannual poke-and-pray." I laugh with relief and happiness; I am happy to say goodbye to that part of my life.

When Jasper arrives in Austin on Wednesday afternoon, he has brought our honeymoon luggage as well. As he made the honeymoon plans – insisting on surprising me, he hasn't told me a single detail about where we're going – he also had to pack the luggage. He stores it in his parents' bedroom – "So you won't be tempted to peek," he says with a grin. I simply smile back at him, thinking of the surprise I've arranged for _him_.

The night before the wedding, we have a family dinner at an Austin restaurant, a chance for both families to relax before the big day. We don't bother with a rehearsal, as there isn't a great deal for us to rehearse – Jasper and I have been to the ceremony site together and decided where and how everything will proceed.

Tonight he is to sleep his parents' house, and I will stay at the hotel. Each of us has plans to spend the morning with our families tomorrow, and then have photos taken with them after getting dressed. After our families say goodbye to each other and head off in their own directions, he and I have a quiet drink together in the hotel bar. We don't say a great deal – we just sit on a comfortable couch and enjoy the quiet of simply being together.

When the time comes for him to leave, I walk out with him to the street where he hails a cab. He opens the door, and then turns to me. "In less than twenty-four hours…," he murmurs with a smile.

"I know," I reply. "Next time I see you, we'll be getting _married_."

His smile expands to that beautiful, impossibly-wide smile that first made my heart skip a beat all those months ago. "I can't _wait_ ," he enthuses. "I love you."

"I love you too, Kas," I whisper. I caress his cheek with my hand before leaning in and kissing him softly. "Six o'clock sharp – don't be late."

He gets in to the cab and closes the door, then puts down the window. "Good night, beautiful," he says as the cab pulls away. I wave and watch till the cab disappears around a corner.

In my room, I take a quick shower and then collapse into bed. I'm exhausted from the flurry of activity over the past several days, and my last conscious thought is that this is my last night as a single man.

-o-

The next morning is relaxed and enjoyable. I go out for breakfast with my parents and Alice, and we laugh and reminisce. Over the last year and a half we have come to a place where we are as comfortable together as if the estrangement never happened. Once in a while, though, I find them referring to something that happened while I separated myself from them, and they have to stop and explain the situation to me. Those times make me sad, realizing how much time I sacrificed over my stupid pride – over a decade spent essentially without them. I can't change the past, though. All I can do is look to the future and make sure I never let anything like that happen again.

After breakfast, my mother hands me an envelope. My name is written in Jasper's hand; and inside is a note.

 _You have an appointment with a handsome, sexy man with absolutely magical hands…but before that, please go with your mother to the spa, where I've booked you a massage._

 _See you in a few hours—_

 _Love Kas_

Mother and Alice are also booked in at the spa, for their makeup and their hair, and I'm sure something that involves nail polish. As we say goodbye to my dad, he grins, "Have fun, ladies." I manage to shoot him a dirty look before Alice catches my arm and drags me off to our appointments.

An hour later, every knot and ache in my body has been dissolved away, and my muscles are so relaxed they feel molten. The masseuse – _not_ masseur – dismisses me, wishing me the best at my wedding. I make my way up to my room and have a shower, washing away any residual greasiness from the massage oil.

I carefully style my hair and then I dress in the clothes I've carefully selected for this most important day of my life. A white dress shirt – I leave the top couple of buttons undone, and roll the sleeves up to my elbows. Chocolate brown dress pants, and a vest that matches. Brown dress shoes. And the boutonniere, the catalyst for the argument from several months ago. I can't get the damn thing pinned on myself, at least without ruining it; so I leave my room and walk down the hall to my parents' room. I knock, in case one or both of them is in a state of undress. My dad opens the door.

I adopt a childish stance and a small voice. "I need help."

My dad laughs and says, "Come in, then." He is dressed and ready for the wedding. No amount of teasing from us could convince him to skip wearing a tie today; so along with his black pants and vest that are much the same as mine is a champagne-colored silk tie. The color has been selected to match…

…my mother, who at this moment steps out of the bathroom. Her hands are engaged in fastening her earrings, but she is otherwise ready. She looks absolutely stunning in a long champagne silk dress. The dress has a fitted wrap jacket, with sleeves that come just below Mother's elbows. Both Dad and I stop what we're doing and gape at her. Dad says, "Darling, you look…" at the same time that I give a low whistle.

She beams at us, and says, "Thank you, gentlemen. And may I say, you both look rather handsome yourselves." She already has her green cymbidium orchid corsage pinned to her jacket, and seeing me with boutonniere in hand, she says, "Shall I do that for you, dear?"

"Yes, please." I give it to her and she pins it easily to my vest. My boutonniere is a green orchid and a white calla lily, wrapped with brown satin ribbon. Dad gets in line, with his boutonniere in hand; his is much like hers, but a smaller orchid. Harry and Anneliese will each wear flowers identical to the ones my parents are wearing.

Just as Mother gets Dad's flower pinned to his vest, their door bursts open and Alice joins us. She is wearing a sleeveless chocolate brown satin dress with a soft chiffon overlay; a green sash is tied at her waist. She, too, has a corsage pinned to her dress. Hers is a white & burgundy orchid, with a cream-colored rose.

She hugs me gently, careful not to crush our flowers or hair or otherwise muss our appearance. "You look gorgeous," I tell her. "Absolutely beautiful."

"Thank you," she smiles. "I think we're all looking pretty sharp.'

The four of us spend the ride out to the Lake trying to stay as relaxed as we can. We ride in a limo from the hotel to Jim and Barb's property, about an hour away. Mother and Dad joke and smile with each other, Alice joining in at times; but by the time we're about fifteen minutes out, I'm starting to feel jittery. We still have pictures to do when we get to the lake; and I will have to remind myself to let the photographer do his job – that today my job is a different one. Still…I hope he'll understand if I ask about the light meter readings once in a while.

At the house, we are greeted by Barb, who is very gracious as she meets my parents for the first time. She and her husband Jim have gone above and beyond the call of friendship this week as we've been tying up the last minute preparations. She has kept us supplied with iced tea and lemonade; suggestions when minor problems arose; and a voice of reason when our nerves became a bit frayed. I already feel like she's one of the family; and my parents thank her profusely for opening her home for this tremendously special day.

We have our family photographs taken under the tall trees that border one section of the property, looking out across the lake. I'm actually impressed with the photographer's suggestions for composition – the shots he suggests aren't the same hackneyed poses that have been used for decades. He has some interesting suggestions, and he humors me when I ask for light meter numbers mid-session.

When the photos are done, it's time to go back in the house – I'm not supposed to be outside when the guests are arriving. I excuse myself, asking for a few moments by myself before the ceremony; and I watch from an upstairs window as the chairs on the lawn below gradually fill with our friends and family. Rather than having the seats all face in a single direction, they are arranged in a circle, facing in toward where we will say our vows. The circle is dissected by two aisles that cross each other, cutting the circle in fourths. Three of those sections have rows of chairs. The fourth section has a low stool, against which an acoustic guitar leans; a microphone; and, a little ways off, the PA system into which these items are plugged. These will be used by the musician we've hired to sing and play during the processional.

The grouping of chairs is set so that Jasper and I will be standing about twenty feet from the shore during the ceremony. The shoreline faces west, and the sun will set behind us as we swear our lives to each other.

This thought makes my stomach quiver – from nerves and excitement and lets-just-get-this-show-on-the-road. I check the clock every thirty seconds; until finally my mother softly knocks on the door of the bedroom where I've been waiting. "Jasper and his parents have arrived. It's time, my darling," she says with her gentle smile. I step out into the hall, and my dad is behind her.

"I love you both, very much," I tell them, giving them each a final hug and kiss.

"We're so proud of you, son," my dad replies. "We wish you all the happiness in the world."

"He's the one," my mother adds. "You two are meant for each other."

I take a deep breath and say, "Okay. Let's do this thing." We walk downstairs to the back doors where Jim waits. He grins at me, and then signals the musician that we're ready. A moment later, the song begins.

 _For you, there'll be no crying_

 _For you, the sun will be shining_

' _Cause I feel that when I'm with you_

 _It's all right_

 _I know it's right_

 _And the songbird keeps singing like they know the score_

 _And I love you, I love you, I love you_

 _Like never before_

 _To you, I would give the world_

 _To you, I'd never be cold_

' _Cause I feel that when I'm with you_

 _It's all right_

 _I know it's right_

 _And the songbirds keep singing like they know the score_

 _And I love you, I love you, I love you_

 _Like never before_

 _Like never before_

 _Like never before_

As the young woman with the lovely clear voice plays the guitar and sings Eva Cassidy's Songbird, my parents and I step out of the house and onto the lawn. Across the lawn, Harry and Anneliese are standing, flanking Jasper as my parents are me. Each of these two groups begin to walk towards the grouping of chairs. The path I take will lead me up one of the aisles; Jasper will walk up the other, and we will meet in the middle, where the circle is open. Our parents are accompanying each of us to the place where we will be joined. It's such a fitting metaphor for the journey that has brought us to this place.

I try to savor this walk; try to pay attention to the way it feels to walk with my arms linked in my parents' arms; try to remember who I make eye contact with as I pass the guests. But all I can see is Jasper, as we make our way towards the place where we will begin a new walk, linked in _each other's_ arms.

He looks so beautiful, in a light-colored linen suit and a white shirt that, like mine, is unbuttoned at the neck. His curls, always beautiful, have been trimmed in the last couple of weeks; but they still frame the face I love so much. His face is serene, very calm, as we take the last few steps and emerge from the aisles into the center of the circle, only steps from each other now.

Each of us gives our parents a hug and a kiss, and then they take their places in the seats; my parents beside Alice, the Whitlocks in the row in front of Rosalie and Emmett and their little boys. Jasper and I turn to face each other, and the calm disappears from Jasper's face, replaced by a thousand-megawatt smile. I know my own face is reflecting that same expression as I reach out and take his hands in mine.

"Hi," he whispers.

"Hi," I whisper back.

"You look gorgeous."

"You look like an angel."

The officiant we have chosen for the ceremony now steps forward, and asks that our guests be seated. Katie is a friend of Jasper's from San Francisco. She isn't a minister, nor does she need to be, as this isn't recognized by the government or any church. She is simply a warm, well-spoken friend who has done us the great honor of writing and performing our ceremony.

"On behalf of the Whitlock and Cullen families," she begins, "I welcome you, and I thank you for joining us here on this glorious fall day as Jasper and Edward commit their lives to one another.

"Jasper and Edward, you have expressed your desire to blend your separate lives into one, to bind yourselves to each other for the rest of your days. I encourage you to look around you as you stand, surrounded by those who have supported each of you in your lives until this point. Your parents, your family and your friends – all have contributed to making you the men you are today. And so I charge all gathered here, to witness this union and to freely give your support to these men in the days and years to come; to guide when needed and love them always.

"Edward and Jasper, you each take this step being fully aware of the other's strengths and weaknesses; of his moments of greatness and his moments of fear. From this day, your partner's triumphs will be your triumphs; his sorrows will be your sorrows. You will have days that are filled with bliss; and days that make you wonder what the heck you signed on for." We both grin at this, and around us we hear soft laughter from our guests.

"But no matter what life brings to you, remember this equation: sorrow shared is sorrow halved; but joy shared is joy doubled. In every situation, consider your partner; every day, express your love for one another; be kind to each other; and always communicate your joys, your frustrations, your fears, and your hopes and dreams to your partner. Remember that you are taking this step today because you want to build a life _together_. Every day, strive to make choices that will strengthen that bond.

"We have several readings that you have selected; the first reading will be shared with us by Edward's sister, Alice Cullen."

Katie steps back and Alice takes her place in front of us. In her clear, high voice, she speaks.

"The first reading is from The Velveteen Rabbit," she begins.

 _"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"_

 _"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."_

 _"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit._

 _"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."_

 _"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"_

 _"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."_

"Thank you, Alice," Katie says. "And now, Rosalie Whitlock, Jasper's sister, will share a reading with us."

Rosalie steps up to where Alice stood. She, too, is dressed in a rich chocolate brown dress, her long blonde hair cascading in curls down her back.

"The second reading is from Letters to a Young Poet, by Rainier Maria Rilke.

 _For one human being to love another human being: that is perhaps the most difficult task that has been entrusted to us, the ultimate task, the final test and proof, the work for which all other work is merely preparation. Loving does not at first mean merging, surrendering, and uniting with another person - it is a high inducement for the individual to ripen, to become something in himself, to become world, to become world in himself for the sake of another person; it is a great, demanding claim on him, something that choose him and calls him to vast distances._

"Thank you, Rosalie," Katie smiles.

Now comes the surprise – the part of the ceremony Jasper has no knowledge of at all. I watch his face while Katie speaks. "Edward and Jasper have prepared their own vows; but before they make these vows, Edward has arranged for a special musical gift for Jasper. So I now invite Kathleen Sullivan and Ashton Byrne to come up and present that gift."

He gasps softly, and Kathleen and Ashton make their way to where the guitar and microphone await. Keeping this from him has been nearly impossible, especially since he sees Kathleen every day at the office. "What did you do?" he asks, his face still portraying his shock. In answer, I simply smile, and turn to Kathleen and Ashton.

Kathleen's voice is clear, sweet and beautiful; and Ashton's acoustic guitar with its nylon strings is the perfect accompaniment. Before Jasper and me, and all our loved ones, they perform a much-simplified version of Beyonce's "Halo". I can see that Jasper is beyond moved that I've arranged to have this song be part of our ceremony. Kathleen puts so much feeling into those words, knowing the song means a great deal to us.

 _Remember those walls I built  
Well baby they're tumbling down  
And they didn't even put up a fight  
They didn't even make a sound  
I found a way to let you in  
But I never really had a doubt  
Standin' in the light of your Halo  
I got my angel now_

 _It's like I've been awakened  
Every rule I had you breakin'  
Its the risk that I'm takin'  
I ain't never gonna shut you out_

 _Everywhere I'm lookin' now  
I'm surrounded by your embrace  
Baby I can see your Halo  
You know you're my saving grace  
You're everything I need and more  
It's written all over your face  
Baby I can feel your Halo  
Pray it won't fade away_

 _I can feel your halo…  
I can see your halo…_

 _Hit me like a ray of sun  
Burning through my darkest night  
You're the only one that I want  
Think I'm addicted to your light  
I swore I'd never fall again  
But this don't even feel like falling  
Gravity can't begin  
To pull me to the ground again_

 _Everywhere I'm lookin' now  
I'm surrounded by your embrace  
Baby I can see your Halo  
You know you're my saving grace  
You're everything I need and more  
It's written all over your face  
Baby I can feel your Halo  
Pray it won't fade away_

 _I can feel your halo…_

As she sings the last few notes, she reaches up to brush away a tear that has begun to trickle down her cheek; and I notice the tear isn't the only thing sparkling in the setting sun. Kathleen is wearing an engagement ring.

I file that away to ask her about later, and return my attention to my Kas, whose eyes are brimming with tears. He grins at me through the tears; then as our troubadours return to their seats, he hugs Kathleen and shakes Ashton's hand, thanking them both. I give Kathleen a kiss on the cheek and pat Ashton's shoulder; then turn back to my beloved, taking his hands in mine once more.

"Now," continues Katie, "Jasper, please make your vows to Edward."

Jasper laughs, a short nervous burst. "I wasn't supposed to cry _before_ I started my vows," he blurts; and we all join in his merriment and joy.

He takes a couple of deep breaths to steady his voice, and begins.

"Edward, thirteen years ago when I was a gawky, uncoordinated math nerd, I met a boy. I didn't know him well, but he had a significant impact upon my life. Simply observing and admiring him from afar opened my eyes to some pretty profound truth about myself. After a couple of years I moved away and lost touch with that boy, but the memory of him, and the lessons he taught me, remained with me.

"That boy, as you know, was you.

"Eighteen months ago, I returned to Seattle and we met again. My love, it wasn't easy at first, but any rough seas we've encountered have been merely cloudbursts upon a vast, calm ocean. The storms cannot sink us, because we will always hold each other up.

"Today, we blend our lives into one. In front of our loved ones, I promise to love you, to be honest, faithful, and patient. I promise I will listen when you speak; I will be supportive of your dreams and goals, and I will remain by your side when our journey takes us through sad or difficult times."

We both have tears in our eyes as he ends with the phrase he and I agreed upon together – we will both end our vows with it:

"Until the end of our days, I commit myself to you. This is my vow."

"Edward," prompts Katie, "please make your vows to Jasper."

I have to clear my throat a couple of times and take a few breaths before I can speak clearly.

"Jasper, before your love shone its light upon my life, my world was a cold place; without passion or real happiness. The night we met, I told you that you were dangerous and subversive. Your quiet, faithful persistence transformed me, and the walls I'd built to shut out the world, couldn't stand against the immutable strength of your love.

"You create for me a place of calm. No matter what the world throws at me, I come home to your peaceful love, and nothing can penetrate that protection. You've taught me to appreciate and enjoy so much, and I am grateful that you've consented to allow me to return that love and happiness to you.

"Our parents have provided both of us with a gold standard example of how a happy, loving and respectful marriage is built and sustained. I am so blessed to stand in their presence, and surrounded by our family and friends, and declare that I will spend the rest of my life joined to you. With you I will share my love, my life, my joys and my sorrows; my truth and my fears; my strength and my weakness. Together we will weather whatever life brings to us.

"Until the end of our days, I commit myself to you. This is my vow."

Jasper pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket, and dabs my eyes with it; then produces a second one for himself. "I came prepared," he whispers; loudly enough that those seated closest to us hear him and chuckle.

"May I have the rings, please?" asks Katie, and each of our fathers steps forward, as the people who have held the rings until the appropriate moment. "We have come to the point in the ceremony when Jasper and Edward will exchange rings, and for these they have chosen traditional vows. Jasper, please place the ring on Edward's finger, and repeat after me." She gives him the ring that will rest on my finger.

"Edward," says Jasper, "I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow; and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you." He slides the ring onto my finger, and then quickly lifts my hand to his lips and kisses it. I then repeat the same vow, placing the ring on his finger. We clasp both hands again, standing close to each other and holding an intense gaze, for what comes next.

Katie continues. "Edward and Jasper have declared today before these witnesses, their love for each other, and their intention to spend the rest of their lives together, keeping themselves only for each other. They have also taken legal steps that bind together their worldly possessions. Therefore, I affirm that, in the eyes of those who love and respect them, they are married." We both sigh with relief and gratitude as she says those words; and smiles light up our faces.

"Gentlemen, would you like to seal that with a little suck-face?" Katie beams, and those around us burst into laughter. Jasper and I each raise a hand to cradle the other's face, and lean in to seal our union. We don't, in fact, suck face; but having discussed this beforehand, we do manage to slip a little tongue – church tongue, as Jasper says – before separating. Jasper doesn't release me; we keep our arms around each other for the next part.

"It gives me tremendous pleasure," Katie exclaims, "to present for the first time, Jasper and Edward Cullen-Whitlock!" Our family and friends break into applause and cheers as, hand-in-hand, we turn to face them. We are, indeed, surrounded by those we love best; everywhere we turn, we are met with nothing but joy, love and the blessing of these people who have done so much to support us.

From the sound system in the nearby tent, joyful music plays. We each turn to our parents, embracing them and exchanging kisses and joy; then trading – me to Harry and Anneliese, Jasper to my parents. Our siblings and nephews are next – they're my nephews now, too – then Jasper picks up Gabe and I take Brandon's hand as we walk hand-in-hand back down the aisle amid the continuing applause.

We continue to walk a short way from the grouping of chairs, then stop. An informal receiving line forms as each of our guests passes by us, offering their congratulations; then breaking off into small groups across the lawn.

So many have come to Texas to be with us for this occasion. Kathleen and Ashton, of course; Jack; Luke and Rachel; Gareth, Lily and their daughter Sarah, who is now running everywhere and keeps her parents on their toes running after her; Eve and Liz. Jasper's former boyfriend Jacob and his new partner Nathan have come from San Francisco, along with Katie and some other friends he made while there. Several couples to whom my parents are closest have travelled from Seattle; and of course, Anneliese and Harry's best friends as well. We joyously greet each of them, receiving their love and their best wishes with utmost gratitude.

When we have spoken to each of our guests, they are invited into the tent where cocktails and hors d'oeuvres await; for us and our families, it's time for photographs. The session passes by in a blur; despite the flurry of activity around us, I can only focus on the beautiful creature I can now call my husband. The two of us have not yet spoken a word to each other since the moment Katie affirmed our marriage. Throughout the session we exchange gazes of wonder – the moment we've waited for has finally come and gone; and now, we're together for the rest of our lives.

Finally the list of photographs is exhausted, and our family all start toward the tent. Jasper is about to follow them when I hold up my hand. "We'll join you in a few minutes," I tell my dad, and he nods in understanding. Wordlessly, I lead Jasper into the house and upstairs to the bedroom where I waited before the ceremony.

There is a small sofa in the bedroom, and together we sit. I burrow under his arm and groan a deep sigh. Every emotion I've felt today has been highly intensified; and the result is that my nerves have been wrung to an almost unbearable extent. I burst into tears, from the sheer need to release some of the tension that has built. Jasper holds me tight, kissing my head, and we reconnect, bringing our focus back to each other; for a few moments blocking out all the extraneous distractions and demands that are necessary today.

Finally, feeling much better, I am calm. I lift my face to Jasper, and he smiles gently. I whisper, "I love you so much. Thank you for marrying me today."

"I love you, beautiful. For the rest of my life." He kisses me tenderly, caressing my face. "I guess we should rejoin our guests soon?"

"Give me a couple more minutes to just be with you," I ask, and he nods, kissing me again.

"Jasper Cullen-Whitlock," he murmurs, trying on his new name. "I have to admit, I love it." Neither of us had a doubt that we each wished to carry the other's name, and it made sense for us to hyphenate them the same way. Of the two options, Cullen-Whitlock flowed more easily than Whitlock-Cullen.

For a few more moments we sit in the peaceful quiet of each other's presence, then I concede that it's time to return to the party. We embrace once more before Jasper leads me back downstairs and out onto the lawn. The DJ sees us making our way toward the tent; as we re-enter, he announces us to our guests. Again there is a burst of applause and cheers. Jasper and I pause to give each other a kiss, flash great smiles at our guests, then make our way to join our parents at one of the round tables that surround the dance floor.

While waiting for our entrance, our guests have been enjoying the hors d'oeuvres and champagne. The DJ has been instructed to play laid-back, jazz lounge standards; right now Herbie Hancock's "Cantaloupe Island" is playing. One of the servers brings Jasper and I each a glass of bubbly, along with a plate of hors d'oeuvres that has been reserved for us. We're both pretty hungry, as neither of us has eaten since we each had a snack this afternoon. We munch on the tasty tidbits, chat with our parents, talk to the guests that stop as they pass our table, and generally just relax for a bit.

I look around the tent, taking it all in – the beauty of the décor, the color scheme we selected…everything has gelled to make this night simply gorgeous. Our table centerpieces are wide, heavy, round crystal vases; inside, green and white orchids nestle against calla lilies so deeply red they're almost black. Tea lights flicker in groups on every table. At one end of the space, near our table, sits the cake table and the guest book. The cake is beautiful in its simple elegance. Nothing flashy or overdone; just two round tiers, white icing with tiny dots grouped together across the surface, and several orchids on the top.

Overhead, swags of gauzy material are strung with twinkling white lights, casting a soft glow throughout the space as the sky outside darkens from deep blue into black. And throughout the space, the happy sound of joyful voices – the voices of the people we are closest to in this world. This is everything I could have requested from this day; and it just keeps getting better.

Soon, Emmett rises to take the mic from the DJ. He is acting as our master of ceremonies this evening, and before he introduces the first speaker, he shares a few anecdotes about his own introduction to the Whitlocks, and what it means to marry into this family. He finishes by assuring me he has my back, and offers a toast to Jasper and me; in which all the guests join.

Each of our fathers gets up to speak. Fortunately, both are very comfortable speaking to groups. My dad talks about how thrilled he and my mother are to see me so happy, and that they are delighted to welcome Jasper into the Cullen family. There isn't a dry eye, including his, when he tells Jasper, "We're not losing a son – thanks to you, Jasper, we've regained our son and added another." Jasper and I both get up to hug him and my mother. Next Harry tells of the first time they met me; how quickly they realized that I was in Jasper's life to stay. He offers a few words of wisdom to us before raising his glass in a toast as well.

Soon, it is time for Jasper and I to speak. We have given thought and discussion to this beforehand, so as not to neglect to mention anyone. Jasper begins, thanking our guests, particularly those who've travelled many miles to be with us. He thanks Kathleen and Ashton for their beautiful performance during the ceremony, taking a moment to remind Kathleen that she still works for him and not to get used to keeping secrets from him – drawing laughter from everyone. He praises and thanks Katie for the lovely ceremony she created.

When the mic comes to me, I thank our mothers and our sisters for the many tireless hours they have all put into helping us make the day perfect. I thank Jim and Barb for allowing us to use their home. Jasper and I present to them a drawing we've had commissioned, as a gift of thanks. They both have a playful style and a good sense of humor; the drawing is a whimsical rendering of the two of them standing in front of their home, their grandchildren playing in the yard behind them. It's clear from their faces that the idea is a hit.

Finally, each of us takes a few moments to thank our own parents. Jasper's voice quavers when he tells Harry and Anneliese that the sense of family he has is because of their example, their love and guidance. To them we give a tabletop statue of a group of people, standing with arms around each other to form a circle. The people, though abstract, vary in stature and poise; and it is obvious that this is a family circle, inclusive and complete. They both stand up to hug us again; and as Anneliese embraces me, she says quietly, "You know you're one of the people in that circle now, Edward." Unable to speak, I simply nod and kiss her cheek.

It is time for me to address my parents, and I need a moment before I can take the microphone from Jasper. He pulls out another handkerchief from his pocket – I must remember to ask him later how many he started out with – and hands it to me, prompting sympathetic laughter from our guests. After a moment, I turn to my parents.

"Mother and Dad: The last year and a half have been the best months of my life. Not just because I fell head over heels for Jasper; but because I have reconnected with you both, and with Alice. The support you have given me, after…" My voice breaks, and I can't continue; my parents are both crying as well. Jasper pulls me close to his side, whispering encouragement to me until I can go on. "Regardless of the errors I made in my youth, your arms were always open wide to me. The moment I realized that was the moment I learned what unconditional love means. It is the most important lesson I have ever learned; and we both thank you for that." We present a statue to my parents as well. It is an abstract couple, carved from a single piece of marble. The permanence and strength of the stone reflect how I regard my parents' relationship and their love for me.

Our speeches over, I hand the mic back to Emmett. He announces that we are about to dance our first dance as a married couple. To the first strains of "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face," by Roberta Flack, I lead Jasper to the dance floor.

The song is slow, sweet and beautiful. It's Jasper's favorite, and he really wanted to have it as our first song. I was happy to concede on that point, especially since I snuck in the surprise performance during the ceremony. His arm is wrapped around my shoulders; my arm is around his waist. I pull his other hand to my chest and close my hand atop his, over my heart. I have instructed the photographer to take pictures of us during the second song, but not the first. For the entire song, I look nowhere else but at my husband's face, so near mine. We float together in our own world, murmuring endearments, gently pressing our lips together again and again.

When the song is over, there is applause from around us. The second song, "Angels" by Robin Thicke, is my choice; and our parents and siblings are called to take the dance floor with us. Alice, who's not seeing anyone, has arranged with Jack that he will dance with her; they've become friends as they each hang out at our place a lot. During this dance, the photographer draws our attention several times; we smile, and then immediately return our attention to each other.

The rest of the evening passes in a whirlwind of laughter, best wishes and dancing. Brandon, Gabriel and even baby Sarah dance their little socks off until they finally conk out, sleeping on little kid-sized sleeping bags that Barb has offered to Rosalie and Lily – how they can sleep through the noise of the reception, is beyond me. Jasper and I manage to nail down Kathleen and Ashton; Jasper demands that they dish on the sparkler she has on her left hand. Beaming at each other, they admit that Ashton proposed last night. They didn't intend to tell us this evening, knowing that today should be about us; and they make us promise to keep it to ourselves for a couple of weeks – Kathleen hasn't even told her parents yet.

Shortly before eleven, I find myself saying goodbye to my parents' best friends, Sue and Charlie, before they head back to their hotel in the city. As I turn from them, I scan the room for Jasper. Within fifteen minutes or so, the caterers will be ready to serve the late-night buffet we've arranged for our guests; but I've decided that, as wonderful as this day has been, I'm ready to escape the crowd and be alone with my husband.

I catch Jasper's hand as he turns away from chatting with Nathan. "Hey, angel," I murmur. "What do you say we run away together?"

He smiles. "I was just thinking that myself. May I have one more dance with the groom before we go?"

We send Emmett to the DJ booth to announce our last dance. Our guests surround us in a close circle as we finish out the evening by dancing to the first song we ever shared – "It Never Entered My Mind".

When we're done, we're inundated with hugs from everyone. We finally make our way out the door of the tent and across the lawn to where the limousine waits to take us back to Austin, where we will spend our wedding night.

There is no bouquet or garter to toss, but plenty of kisses to be thrown as the car pulls away. We wave as long as we can; then when we're out of sight, we relax back into the comfortable seats of the limousine and settle in with each other for the ride back to Austin. We have about an hour and a half – it's a bit of a drive, but this is why we arranged for a car and driver.

In the back of the limo is an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne and some bottles of sparkling water. I lift the lid of a smallish tray to find cheese and crackers and fruit cut up for us. Jasper opens the champagne and pours us each a glass, handing one to me. He raises his own, and says, "Thank you for making this the happiest day of my life, beautiful. Here's to us." I touch my glass to his, and we drink.

For the rest of the drive back to Austin, we are wrapped up in each other, emotionally and physically. Having doffed my vest, and Jasper his coat, we are relaxed and comfortable, snuggled together on the soft leather seats; trading kisses, discussing the day, sharing our favorite moments. Jasper chuckles when he tells me that Brandon informed him this morning that he intends to marry his best friend Arthur when he grows up.

"Rose and Em are raising him well," I grin, lifting my champagne glass to salute them.

Eventually we see the glow of the Austin city lights on the horizon, and soon we're back in the city, speeding along the Mopac Expressway, until we turn onto East 5th Street. Several blocks later we turn onto Brazos Street and pull up in front of the Driskill Hotel. We are booked into the Renaissance Bridal Suite – one of our gifts from my new in-laws. My parents, Alice and I all stayed at this hotel last night; and before I left the hotel for the wedding, I checked us in to the honeymoon suite. Friends of the Whitlocks were recruited to bring our luggage from Anneliese and Harry's house to the hotel before coming out to the wedding, so everything will be set and waiting for us.

The desk staff smile at us as we pass, wishing us a lovely evening. Upstairs, I unlock the door to our room. Jasper is about to step in when I put my hand on his arm. He looks at me questioningly.

"I think there's a certain protocol to this, isn't there?" I ask. He tilts his head to one side, not catching my meaning. Instead of answering, I bend down, putting one arm behind his knees and the other under his back, lifting him off the floor. He throws his head back and laughs, locking his arms behind my neck.

"You're absolutely right." He kisses me softly on the lips as I step into our room. Our lips are still busy when I set him gently back on the floor. When we finally pull apart, we look around us, and in unison, we gasp.

The room is incredibly opulent, with hardwood floors, high ceilings and soft white tones throughout; a huge wrought-iron four-poster bed, draped with rich white fabric; a set of French doors that open onto a private balcony; and yet another bottle of champagne chilling beside a silver tray of strawberries. Wide-eyed, we wander around the suite, into the bathroom. Marble is everywhere, surrounding the Jacuzzi and lining the multi-head shower. I've stayed in many, many hotels in my lifetime – none of them compared to this.

"Remind me to thank your parents," I murmur, turning to Jasper and beginning to unbutton his shirt.

"Well, aren't you anxious," he smiles; but he doesn't stop me.

"Actually, I thought we might take a shower first – it's been a long day, and this shower looks like it will fit two very comfortably," I grin, pulling his unbuttoned shirt out of the waist of his pants. "By the way, if I haven't mentioned, you looked fucking amazing today – so sexy, so handsome. When I saw you walking up the aisle towards me, my knees almost went out from under me."

It's his turn to peel my shirt from me, then he goes to work on my belt. "I loved your vest – the way it rested at the top of your ass…I wanted to just slide my hands in under it and squeeze."

"Jasper Cullen-Whitlock," I tease him, "were you having thoughts of an impure nature before we were married?"

"Before…during…after…" he admits, and then his lips find mine. Our hands continue the job of removing the impediments to our closeness, until we're bare and standing in the midst of the spray that comes at us from numerous directions. In the shower, though, we only kiss; long, slow, probing kisses, that travel down necks and across shoulders and chests. Kisses that don't stop when I squeeze body wash into my hand, work it into a lather and gently cleanse Jasper's body. I pull him tight to me, his slick skin giving no purchase as I slide my chest across his. He does the same, tenderly lathering my body, then rinsing the suds from me.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs in my ear, holding me close in a tight embrace. "You're beautiful, and you're mine. My husband. I love you."

"I love you too," I sigh. He reaches to the faucet and turns off the shower, then grabs us each a huge, fluffy towel from the towel rack. He tosses his over his shoulder, and holds mine in his hands, lovingly drying me off. He wraps the towel around my waist and turns me in the direction of the bedroom, whispering in my ear, "Meet you in there."

On my way to the bed, I reach into my shaving kit to grab a bottle of lube. Beside the bed, I set the lube on the night table. I run the towel over my hair, soaking up some of the drips, and toss it over the back of a chair. Completely naked, I climb into the middle of the high bed, reclining back on to the pillows that are piled at the head; and there I wait for Jasper.

Fortunately I don't have to wait long – he strolls out of the bathroom wearing nothing, not even the towel. The muscles in his long legs ripple as he walks toward me; his broad smooth chest glistens with a couple of missed droplets of water. His curls are darkened with the dampness; but his eyes glimmer their usual green and the dimples pit his cheeks when he smiles at me.

He turns down the lights in the suite, leaving a couple of small lamps casting a soft glow. He kneels on the bed beside me, just looking into my eyes for a moment before his mouth finds mine. Our kiss is deep and passionate, but unhurried. Tonight is not about urgency and racing towards a finish. It's about savoring, sharing, feeling – especially since we're about to do something neither of us has ever done before.

His body moves to hover over mine, his knees on either side of my hips. He moans into my mouth when my hands drift down across his muscular back to stroke and squeeze his ass. His mouth leaves my lips and kisses my neck, my chest, down my stomach; and then follows the vee from my hipbone to my groin. When he gets to my balls, he takes each of them into his mouth one at a time, sucking and massaging them with his tongue. I sigh, letting my body respond to the sublime feeling of his mouth on me.

After he releases my balls, he licks up the underside of my shaft, and captures the little drop that glistens at the tip. "Mmm," he hums, before taking the head into his mouth. He sucks me; every stroke of his warm, wet mouth over my rigid cock reminding me that I will have this – I will have _him_ – for the rest of our lives. In my life every day, in my bed every night, and in my heart forever.

He feels so good that I must bid him to stop. I roll him onto his back and pull his knees up so that the soles of his feet are resting on the bed. It's my turn to go down on him, and I do. I go down, past his cock…down, past his balls…down, to his ass. When I dip my tongue into that sensitive spot, he squirms beneath me, grinding his hips against my face. Moving up, I work over the perineum, massaging it with my tongue. North again, and I'm at his sac, sucking just the sensitive skin of the underside into my mouth and tugging gently. Licking up the tender channels where his thighs meet his groin.

Before I open my mouth to his cock, I put some of the lube on my fingers. While my fingers carefully lube his ass, massaging and relaxing him, loosening him for me, my mouth descends on his cock, slowly, torturously. He is positively writhing when I finally pull away.

"Are you ready, angel? Are you ready to do this?" I ask.

He moans, "Ungh, beautiful, I've been ready since the day I laid eyes on you. I've waited so long – please don't make me wait any more. I want all of you."

His words are all the assurance I need. I grasp my bare cock, slicking it with the lube, and push into his beautiful, tight hole. God, it feels fucking miraculous to be skin-to-skin with him, sharing our whole selves in this long-awaited act of intimacy. As I slide in and out of him, the magnitude grasps me by the heart. The trust he has in me, the faith that I will not put him in danger – they are overwhelming. He doesn't only trust me to protect his emotional health, but his physical health as well.

My heart swells with love and pride at the responsibility for protecting him. It's honestly the easiest request I could ever grant. Carrying his heart – it doesn't even feel like an obligation. It feels like a privilege and a pleasure. And entrusting him with mine? The easiest and most natural thing I've ever done.

Our bodies establish a slow rhythm, rocking together, moving in unison. Jasper is always vocal when we make love, and tonight he murmurs expressions of his love, his passion and devotion. I am lying on him, our chests pressed together; my fingers are laced through his, holding his hands above his shoulders on the mattress. I am looking directly into his eyes, watching his beautiful face as the intensity builds. His cock, captured between us, is squeezed and massaged by our sweat-slick bodies as we writhe together.

He wriggles his fingers to pull his hands free from mine, and wraps his arms around my back, pulling me as close as we can be. "Fuck, I love you," he moans. "I can't wait to take your load in my ass. I'm going to have part of you to keep inside me after we're done. No one has given that to me, baby," he pants. "Only you. I want it from you, so fucking much."

"Ungh, fuck," I groan. His words are pushing me so close to the edge. I slow down for a moment, shuddering, trying to stave off the release that threatens to incinerate me.

Kas realizes what I'm doing and thrusts his hips at me, begging, "Come on, baby. _Please_. I need it – fill me, please. Fill your husband with your hot cum." As he speaks, his left hand flops onto the bed beside his head. On his third finger are two rings. _Two rings._ I glance at my own left hand, wrapped around his shoulder…two rings on the third finger there, too. And then the point is completely driven home. I am _this close_ to giving the most exquisite, the most intimate pleasure, to my _husband._

And that is it. The thought that erases _all_ rational thought, grasping me and sending me spinning through space, the way a wrist flicks a Frisbee. Together we soar, tumbling, crying out, a blend of sweat and tears and semen and whatever life force keeps us in this universe. I give my husband what he's craving; and his own spunk floods between us, creamy and hot.

We shudder together as our souls return to our bodies. I don't want to leave my place, enshrouded within his body; I want to stay nestled there forever. My softening cock makes it impossible; instead I lie half on him, my head resting over his left breast, hearing his heartbeat slowly return to normal. We cuddle that way for a long time, despite the fact that we are utterly exhausted from the long day and the nerves and the busy sequence of events. Even though it's well after midnight, I feel like if we don't go to sleep, it'll still be our wedding day. It's been the most wonderful, perfect day of my life; and I just can't let it go.

Even so, I must eventually get up. I warm a washcloth to clean Jasper off, and then myself. I return to bed and Jasper has crawled under the covers. Joining him, he rolls over to hold me, spooning me from behind. "I'm exhausted, but I don't want the day to be over," he murmurs, voicing my thoughts as though reading them from my head.

"I don't either," I reply, stroking my fingertips along his forearm where it wraps across my chest.

"Of course, if today never ends, then tomorrow can never begin; and, well, I've gone to quite a bit of trouble to plan our honeymoon…"

"Does that mean you're going to tell me now where our honeymoon will be?" I prompt.

"Yes, I think it's time to tell you," he muses. "Remember you telling me that you had turned down a job right around the time we got back together, because you didn't want to go away for so long right at that time? And you said that if you ever did travel to that place, you'd want me to be with you…"

"Italy?" I gasp. "We're going to Italy?"

"Rome, Venice, Florence, Tuscany…" he names. I fairly spin, turning over to look at him. He is tired, but his smile still beams at me. I kiss him repeatedly, thanking him for planning our honeymoon to take place in the country I've wanted to visit for as long as I can remember.

He returns the kisses warmly, then pulls me tight. "Think of all the places we're going to make love over the next two weeks…" And he is asleep almost before he finishes the sentence.

I lie awake for a while longer, the events of the day replaying in my mind. My favorite memory, though, is the one that stays in my head as I drift off to sleep…

Jasper, his face looking earnestly into mine as we repeated our vows. In that face, I see everything that stretches ahead of us in the years to come, all the things I never knew I wanted.

And most important, the love of my life with whom to share it.

-o-


	31. Epilogue

-o-

 _Jasper_

"What time does her flight get in?" I ask, dashing around the house looking for my keys.

Edward replies, a little tersely, "I told you, 3:30!"

"Fuckfuckfuck," I curse under my breath, "we're going to be late."

"We're not going to be late – let's just get our asses in gear and get to the airport!" he hisses.

"Where the fuck are my keys?" I finally growl.

Edward starts to chuckle, and I glare at him till he points. "In your hand!" Even I have to laugh at myself.

"Okay, let's go," I urge. "She'll be upset if we're not there to meet her."

The drive to the airport is a little hectic. I keep watching the clock, worried that we'll arrive and she'll already be waiting for us. Edward checks the airline website on his iPhone, and the flight is, blessedly, running half an hour late. We both relax, knowing we will get there before she does.

We do, of course; and we are standing there at the gate when the flight arrives and the passengers begin to disembark. There are throngs of people everywhere, and the crowds have to part somewhat before we spy her.

"DADDY!" she shouts, running for us the instant she sees us. We both kneel to her level, our arms wide, and she flings herself into them.

"Annie!" Edward replies, kissing her repeatedly on the cheek. She turns her head back and forth between us, kissing one, then the other.

"Welcome home, baby girl," I add, returning those enthusiastic kisses gratefully.

"I missed you!" Her little voice is music to my ears – I haven't heard it in nearly a week.

A moment later, Esme has joined us as well, having been left in the dust by Annie. As we stand to greet her, I pick up Annie. Edward hugs Esme, and I lean in to give her a kiss.

"How was the flight, Mother?" asks Edward.

"Fine, dear," she replies, though she looks a bit weary. Esme and Carlisle have had Annie staying with them for almost a week, Annie and Edward having flown to Seattle last weekend. Edward flew back the next day and we've had a week of child-free time.

For Edward and I no longer live in Seattle. It is just one of the changes that have taken place in our lives since that beautiful October day, six years ago, when we swore ourselves to each other.

The January after our wedding, I decided to go for my Masters of Science in Finance. I did it while still working full-time – it was when Edward was still travelling a lot to shoots, so I had quite a bit of free time in the evenings. It was challenging, juggling work and my degree, but I got through it, and was rewarded with a very welcome pay increase at work.

Another change came six months after my degree, when I finally gave in and allowed myself to succumb to what our mom friends call "the baby bug". I'd been turning it over in my mind for well over two years, since the night I'd had that dream about having several adopted children. I hadn't mentioned it to Edward directly, unsure whether my longings were for a child of our own or just melancholy about being so far away from the nephews. When I first mentioned it to him, he went a little pale, and excused himself to go to the bathroom; when he returned, he didn't mention it at all for the rest of the day and I thought that was my answer.

A week later, though, he came home with a gift for me. I opened it up and inside was a teddy bear. The bear was wearing a t-shirt that said "I love my Daddies." It was just so thoughtful, so loving a gesture, that I – naturally – burst into tears. We didn't even know at that point what the laws were in Washington State about gay adoption; but having registered our domestic partnership with Washington State as soon as we'd returned from our honeymoon, we hoped that a state that at least made that allowance, would allow us to adopt.

As it turned out, adoption wasn't in the cards for us. Not that we weren't approved – I'm sure we would have been, if we'd applied. Annie came into our lives in rather a different manner. We had, of course, shared with our family that we were planning to adopt. When I told Rosalie, she was excited, naturally; but as the conversation continued she seemed distracted, as though she was deep in thought and unable to focus on the conversation.

A week later, she called back and made us an unbelievable offer. "I know this may not be exactly what you were planning," she said, "but just hear me out. You know Em had a vasectomy when Gabe was a year or so; and we're completely done having kids. But, well, I still have these eggs I'm not using…"

"Yeah?" I prompted.

"Adoption can take a really long time, Jay, and it can be heartbreaking. If you waited all that time and it didn't work out…You and Edward are going to be amazing dads, and I want that to happen for you sooner rather than later. I've talked about this with Emmett, and we're in complete agreement. Would you let me donate my eggs to you?"

I was absolutely floored – stunned speechless. So much so, in fact, that Edward had to take the phone from me and ask Rosie what on earth she'd said, because I simply couldn't speak. As he listened silently, his eyes flickered to mine. "How would that work?" he asked Rosalie, then listened again. "So we would find someone who was willing to be a surrogate…My sperm?...Oh right, of course – sorry, I'm a little stunned by all this…"

As though in a dream, I listened to Edward's end of the conversation, my head spinning. Was it possible? Could we have a baby who looked like _both_ of us? I had never, in a million years, entertained that thought, aside from that dream son who had green eyes and shimmering copper curls.

Edward ended the conversation with Rosalie by assuring her that I wasn't having an aneurysm – that I was just in shock and that we would call her in a few days after we'd had a chance to think and talk about it.

After he hung up, he came back to stand before me. I had silent tears falling down my cheeks, and he gazed at me for a long moment before speaking. "What do you think, Angel? Shall we lasso a cherub?"

It was easy, at that moment, to say yes without thinking about the consequences or even the logistics of how this would be accomplished. I wrapped my arms around him and we clung to each other, our arms already aching to hold the child who was destined to be ours.

The next day, reality set in as we researched surrogacy. Contracts; compensation – which is illegal in Washington State outside of paying for the expenses incurred by the mother; whether or not we'd have to adopt our own biological child; finding someone willing to carry the child for us…it was overwhelming. Finally, after getting some legal advice from a lawyer who specializes in adoptions and surrogacy; and after paying a visit to Dr. Matson, at Edward's request, we came to a decision.

We would go for it.

All the paperwork, the expense, the decisions…every single moment was worth it. Rosalie started taking a drug to help stimulate egg production, and the eggs were harvested at a facility there in San Diego. We found a surrogate through an agency; she was located a little over an hour away, in Olympia. Julie was an absolutely fantastic woman, with two children of her own, and a husband as generous and understanding as she was. Her sister had gone through infertility, and she understood the desire to have a child. We were in almost-daily contact with her from the time the embryos were transferred to her; and the day she tested positive, she cried with us on the phone, sharing our joy. She kept a blog just for us, so we could keep up to date on her daily symptoms.

When Julie graduated from the first trimester, Edward and I celebrated with a glass of champagne. The first time she felt the baby move, my heart leaped in my chest. We visited her and her family in Olympia every other weekend, often just for a few hours, but occasionally staying overnight with them. They also came to our place twice, once with the little ones, and once when the kids stayed with their grandparents. In that year, before she became pregnant and during gestation, we became like family – what other word could we use to describe this woman who was, completely selflessly, giving our baby a safe place to be nurtured until he or she was ready to join us?

When Julie was about 20 weeks, halfway through her pregnancy, we decided to rent out Edward's – that is, _our –_ loft, and purchase a single-family home. The apartment only had one bedroom, and no tub – were we supposed to balance the baby on the ledge for baths? No, it felt like the mature, parental thing to do would be to buy a home, with a yard and multiple bedrooms and a family-friendly bathroom and kitchen. Carlisle and Esme were overjoyed when they found out we would buy not too far away from where they lived, in Queen Anne. We found a beautiful red brick two-storey; on the small side, but perfect for the three of us. It had a yard, and a swing set in the back that the sellers offered to leave, as their new home had a larger play structure waiting for their kids.

In short, it was perfect. We had a short escrow, putting in the offer in late October, and closing in mid-November. We spent the rest of November and the early part of December, working our asses off to make it our own. We decorated the nursery in soft, gender-neutral colors – taupe and pale green – soothing for our new little-one-to-be.

One Wednesday in early March, I was at work, about to step out for lunch, when I got a call from Julie's husband, Randy. Julie had been having mild contractions that morning, and he was going to take her to the hospital to get checked. I wanted to jump in the car immediately and race down to Olympia, but he suggested I wait until I heard from them again. Nervously, I agreed; and as soon as I hung up with Randy, I called Edward to tell him what was happening. He, too, was beside himself. He was at a meeting that day downtown, but would be home by three o'clock. We would leave to go to Olympia then.

There was no way I could focus on work after that; Kathleen, herself happily married to Ashton and four months pregnant at that time, insisted I go home and wait to hear. "You should pack your hospital bag," she smiled, giving me a warm hug and a kiss.

Before I went home, I rode up to my father-in-law's office to tell him the news. When I stepped into his office, he was speaking to his secretary. He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment, then said, "Let's see – pale, perspiring, shaky, heavy breathing, and…" he paused and took my wrist, counting my heart rate, "elevated heart rate. My diagnosis is that you're about to become a father." His eyes were merry as he awaited my answer.

"Early contractions," I gasped, and collapsed into a waiting-room chair. Carlisle sat beside me and put his hand on my shoulder. He didn't say anything for a few moments, just gave my shoulder the occasional squeeze.

When I looked at him, he was smiling, shaking his head and murmuring to himself. "You're going to love being a father, Jasper," he said when I caught his gaze. His eyes had a faint mist of tears, and he squeezed my shoulder again.

"Thanks, Carlisle," I returned; then added, "I hope you love being a grandfather."

He nodded, a huge smile coming to his face; and we sat silently together for several moments. His presence calmed me, and soon I was ready to get home and get our stuff packed so we could leave as soon as Edward got home. As I left, Carlisle said he would phone Esme to let her know. I knew I had some calls to make once I got home, as well; to my parents, and to Rosie and Em.

Once at home, I realized I only had my smaller coupe there; so I got everything ready to go and at the front door so we could throw it all into our new Volvo wagon when Edward got home. We'd had the infant seat base professionally installed a month earlier, and it was ready and waiting. I had a suitcase of baby clothes; diapers and all the accompanying accessories for that business; bottles and ready-to-drink formula. I had another suitcase with clothes for Edward and me, enough to last us a few days – I wanted to be prepared.

At 2:15, Randy called me again. "Julie's definitely in labor," he reported, a smile evident in his voice, "but it's still pretty early; about four centimeters. In her labors with our kids, she progressed at about a centimeter an hour; so we've probably got about six hours to go. So, you guys should probably start making your way here; but don't kick in the afterburners, okay?" I thanked him, promising we'd drive safely.

True to his word, Edward was home shortly before three. When he pulled into the drive, I dashed out to meet him, having been waiting anxiously at the front window. He caught me around the waist and hugged me close to him; we each buried our heads in the other's neck, clinging tightly. There were no words – none were needed. We were about to be _parents._ We would just clasp each other and get through it together.

The drive to Olympia, normally a 70-minute drive, was made in fifty-five, thanks to Edward; whose normal penchant for speed was elevated by the situation. We arrived shortly after 4 p.m. and went straight to the hospital, not bothering to stop at the hotel to drop off our luggage. When we asked for her at the nurses' station, a kindly nurse in her late fifties asked us, "Are you the dads?"

We both heaved a nervous breath – _the dads._ "Yes," Edward answered her.

"Come this way, dears," she answered with a smile. We followed her down a hallway; she stopped at a mostly-closed door and, popping her head in, said to the occupants, "You have a couple of gentleman callers."

"Send them in," came Julie's voice, sounding a bit strained but otherwise fine. The nurse pushed the door open, and there were Julie and Randy. Julie was in a hospital bed that had no rail at the bottom; and Randy sat beside her, holding a Styrofoam cup with a plastic spoon in it. Julie had a wide brown elastic band encircling the girth of her exposed, distended belly. From a machine that was rolled up by her bedside, we heard a rapid whooshing sound – the baby's heartbeat.

"It's almost time to meet your son or daughter," Julie said softly, as we hurried to her side. She reached out a hand to us, pulling us each close for a hug and a kiss. We hadn't seen her for three weeks, she being too tired to visit us or to have visitors stay. We understood, of course; but we'd missed the entire family during that time, having becoming so close to them all.

"How are you feeling?" I asked, as Edward pulled up a chair for each of us.

"I feel great now," she laughed weakly. "Got my epidural about an hour ago."

"When each of our kids was born," Randy added, "Julie told me she was leaving me for the anaesthesiologist who had administered her epidural. The second time, it was a woman!" We all laughed, Julie nodding.

After we had chatted a bit, we each settled in for some more waiting. The doctor came and checked Julie around 6 p.m., and true to Randy's prediction, she was 8 cm – progressing at a centimeter an hour. We knew when she got to ten, she'd be ready to push. So we slipped downstairs to grab something to keep us from passing out, we were both so famished – with the understanding that Randy would page us if things sped up.

As we sat at the table in the cafeteria, we ate slowly, munching on sandwiches and cut-up vegetables. "This might be the last quiet meal we have for a long time, beautiful," Edward murmured to me, breaking the thoughtful silence that had descended upon us. "Are you ready for this?"

I considered his question. "Not hardly," I finally admitted, "but with you by my side, I can face anything. Even a screaming baby." He leaned across the table to kiss me tenderly.

At seven we decided we should go back up to the room, knowing it wouldn't be long now until Julie was ready to push.

We each had our pre-assigned roles during the birth. Randy would stay by Julie, encouraging her and getting her through the pushing stage of the delivery. Edward and I would be at her knees so we could watch the birth of our child.

 _Our child. My child._ It was surreal to frame it in that context and know that in just a few short hours, that long-awaited, nearly-hypothetical individual would not only be real, but would be here, and would be depending on the two of us for every measure of comfort, every diaper, every feeding…every lesson about love and home and stability.

When we arrived back in the room, Julie's face was somewhat screwed-up, her eyes closed; it looked at first as though she was crying.

"What's wrong?" I asked, dashing to her bedside. "Why is she crying?" I demanded of Randy, fearing the worst.

Randy didn't answer me, just held up a finger to silence me; and I realized he was he quietly talking to Julie. He held her hand and rubbed her arm, speaking to Julie about a tea party and a tiara. I realized that he was trying to help her focus on her 'happy place', which was apparently a dress-up tea party with their oldest child, Isabel. As he spoke, her breathing regulated; and her face and shoulders gradually relaxed, until they were nearly slack.

Finally she let out a long breath, keeping her eyes closed and not speaking. She looked completely relaxed now. "Pressure," Randy murmured to us. "The epi takes away the pain, but as it gets close, the pressure is really intense."

"How close is she?" Edward whispered back.

"She's almost complete. The doctor checked her when you were downstairs and the dilation had actually sped up. She was already completely effaced and very close to 10 cm dilated," he answered.

Edward and I had a casual knowledge of the subject matter, wanting to be able to understand at least some of what the doctors said. We knew ten was the magic number, and when Randy said that number, I grabbed Edward's hand tightly.

The next hour was a blur. Staff raced around us, changing the configuration of the bed – Edward and I both gaped when the foot of the bed came off completely, just south of Julie's bottom – bringing trays of instruments, positioning lights and a large mirror. Then, a nurse helped Julie put her legs up into some torturous-looking contraptions that held her knees in the air, and raised the head of the bed so she was almost bent in two at the waist. Through it all, Julie held Randy's hand; his attention was focused solely on her as her contractions peaked and subsided. He was so _calm_. I envied him tremendously; because I was terrified.

Within moments, the doctor was sitting at the end of Julie's bed. Randy remained where he was, beside Julie's head; and Edward and I took up our stations at her knees. For the next 45 minutes, we watched as, with each contraction, Julie brought our child closer to our waiting arms. Finally the top of a tiny head emerged; we saw faint wisps of dark reddish hair, then a head, facing towards the floor; one shoulder was delivered, then the other, and once the baby's shoulders were out, one more push by Julie was all that was required. The baby slid out and into the doctor's arms.

Very soon, the doctor solved the mystery we'd been waiting for, for nine months. "You have a beautiful, beautiful girl."

A girl. _Our daughter._

Dr. Shephard worked quickly, suctioning her nose and mouth. When she pulled the little vacuum out of the baby's mouth, the tiny girl gave a lusty cry, and each of us breathed a sigh of relief. Edward left his place on the other side of Julie, coming around to where I stood. He grabbed me around the waist, lifting me up off my feet. I wrapped my legs and arms around him and we kissed, quickly, repeatedly. When he let me down, Julie and Randy were lip-locked as well.

They pulled apart, and Julie's eyes found us. Her face had a sheen of sweat; her hair was matted around the edges of her hairline; but I'd never seen anyone look more beautiful, more empowered. She looked like an advertisement for Woman.

"Congratulations," she said weakly, giving us a little smile.

I moved to her, taking her hand in mine and kissing her hair gently. "Thank you," I whispered. "You are an amazing woman." Edward followed behind me, thanking her softly as well.

Dr. Shephard spoke up then. "I have a little girl here who would like to be set free. Daddies? Who's going to do the honors?"

Edward and I had decided beforehand that I would cut the cord, and he would be the first to hold the baby. I stepped forward and took the oddly-shaped scissors the doctor handed me. The umbilical cord was like nothing I'd imagined – a thin, translucent sheath, loosely covering what looked like a curly telephone cord in an electric shade of blue. Cutting through the cord was difficult – like sawing through a heavy stalk with a pair of kitchen shears – but after squeezing the blades tightly several times, the cord separated.

Finally freed, our little girl was wrapped in a sterile towel by the nurse and taken to a warming tray to be assessed and cleaned up. Edward followed, watching as they put drops of silver nitrate into her eyes to protect against infection. When she was bundled up with several blankets, and a warm hat was pulled down over her little head and ears, they gave her to Edward.

He held perpendicular to his chest, looking into her face. He stared in wonder for a moment, then raised her face to his and burst into tears. Overwhelmed by the excitement and emotion of the day, deep sobs racked his body; I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, pulling him close to me. He shifted the baby so that she was cradled in his arms, and together we gazed at her face.

Her eyes were puffy and had a silvery-grey stain in the inside corners from the drops; her face was red, and her head seemed to peak in a cone shape. But her eyes were open and alert; as we studied her, she looked back at us.

"It's nice to meet you," I whispered to her. "We've been waiting an awfully long time for you."

Edward lifted his tear-stained face to mine. "Your turn to hold her," he murmured. I positioned my arms and he carefully transferred her to me. We continued to study her face, commenting on her features. Her hair color was definitely Edward's, I noted with some satisfaction; while he pointed out that the shape of her mouth and the cleft in her chin was all Whitlock. "What do you bet she has dimples?" he said softly, tracing her soft cheek with his fingers.

"Mmm, and curls," I replied, noting the way the wisps of hair were starting to wing up and away from her head as her hair dried.

"She's absolutely beautiful," he breathed, and I leaned to kiss him softly. She was, indeed, completely perfect.

Our moment was eventually interrupted by a soft inquiry from Julie. "So, does this little person have a name?"

"We think so," I said, looking at Edward. We knew what we wanted as a first name if we had a little girl – Edward had suggested it almost right away when we started going through the baby name book. It was at the beginning of the alphabet so it came early on in the suggestions; and it just stayed with me. Through many, many other options, this one was one we both loved.

The middle name was much more difficult. Should we give her the name of one of the women in our lives? If so, who? Rosalie, who had donated her eggs to make this possible? Julie, who agreed to conceive and carry our baby for nine months? We kept coming back to the realization that this entire process was made possible by the gifts others had given us, and so we sought a name that meant "gift".

When we told Julie and Randy the name we'd chosen, their smiles showed their approval. We gave them each an opportunity to hold our daughter, and thanked them again and again for making this sacrifice for the sake of our new family.

Soon it was time for Julie to be wheeled to her room to recover. She was a little teary when she said goodbye to us; but we reminded her that we would be part of their lives for as long as they wanted us to be. Our children would be, if not brothers and sisters, at least adopted cousins. She and Randy both smiled, waving goodbye; and they were on their way. It was just me, Edward and our new tiny human in the delivery room; which suddenly seemed very large.

After a few moments, a nurse came in. "Dr. and Mrs. Cullen are in the waiting room," she said kindly. "They would very much like to meet their new grandchild."

Edward stood with a smile. "Yes, of course. Please send them in."

Carlisle and Esme soon poked their heads through the door. The smiles on their faces were blinding; they were, perhaps, the happiest I'd ever seen them. I stood as well, giving our girl to Edward so he could present her to his parents for the first time.

"Mother and Dad…or should I say Grandma and Grandpa," he amended with a wicked smirk, "I'd like to introduce you to Annie Shiloh Cullen-Whitlock."

We had kept the names secret from everyone, so the name was a complete surprise. I watched Esme's face in particular when Edward announced Annie's name. Annie had been Esme's grandmother's name; and it was what my Opa had called Mama as a term of endearment when she was a little girl. We thought it was a good way to honor them both. Esme loved it, of course; and we hoped Anneliese would as well.

We spent the evening with our girl, Edward changing her first diaper and me feeding her the first bottle.

Annie stayed in the hospital that night for observation. We, of course, weren't inpatients of the hospital, so we didn't have a room to stay in. As it wasn't a busy night in the labor wing, the staff let us stay in the delivery room as long as we could; but eventually we had to let her go to the nursery. It was terribly difficult to leave her there to go to the hotel; and I thought at first that Edward might refuse to leave, might insist on sitting in the waiting room outside the nursery all night long, until Carlisle told us that he would, himself, sit and wait out the night. We tried to protest; but he insisted, telling us to go to the hotel with Esme and sleep as well as we could, under the circumstances.

"You need to rest," he pressed. "The nurses will look after Annie; and I'll be right here. Go on – I've stayed up all night many times before, for people I didn't know at all. Let me do this for my granddaughter and my sons."

What could we say? We hugged him gratefully, kissed our baby girl good night, and headed to the hotel, taking Esme with us. We slept fitfully, but managed to get some rest; and were all back at the hospital by eight o'clock the next morning. Carlisle looked exhausted, but gave us a bleary smile and assured us that Annie was just fine. She'd had a bath, and would be discharged whenever we were ready to go. After getting some final instructions from the nurses, and letting Julie and Randy know we were on our way, we strapped Annie into her car seat, and we all went _home_.

Adjusting to life as parents was, unquestionably, the most difficult and the most rewarding thing Edward and I have ever done. I was very fortunate to be able to take the Annie's first six months off from work, and stay home with her. I would never trade that time for anything; although it wasn't always easy. Edward was still traveling to shoots across the country, and probably four days out of every two weeks, Annie and I were on our own. It was difficult for Edward to leave; and difficult for me to let him.

Fortunately, Esme was our baby whisperer on call. She was always just a phone call away, and she was at the house in moments, all those times when I thought I might lose it, when Annie was colicky or cranky or when I didn't know what the hell was wrong with her; and that applied whether Edward was away or not. Without her, we all might have lost our minds.

My parents, too, were over the moon at having another grandchild in general, since they knew Rosie and Emmett weren't going to have any more, and at having a granddaughter in particular. They both came to visit when Annie was about two weeks old; Dad by then was beginning to wind down his career, and had actually begun to train his replacement. The week they spent with us was so enjoyable. Dad and Mama, of course, fell in love with Annie, and they both loved the nod to Mama's girlhood nickname. We decided that Mama would be Oma to Annie. Dad, not being German, would be Grandpa.

Rosalie and Alice were both thrilled to be aunts, and Em of course took to being an uncle as seamlessly as he had to being a dad. All in all, we became a very loving, close-knit group.

By the time Annie was two, though, Edward and I had both had enough of his travelling. It was hard on all of us; and particularly on Annie once she became old enough to understand that Daddy was leaving yet again. Edward and I debated for a month or two on what to do, on how to support our family if he stopped freelancing or just did local work. We still owned his loft, which was paid for and bringing in some decent rent money; but our house being in the beautiful older area of the city meant our mortgage was ridiculously high. We each had a car payment, daycare…we weren't sure how best to manage.

And then the opportunity presented itself – randomly, as the best things in life often do. Our friends Gareth and Lily, by now parents to a girl _and_ a boy, had us over for dinner one evening. Gareth's friend Dave was visiting them from San Francisco, where he taught at, of all places, Edward's alma mater – SFAI. He was in the fine arts department, but when he found out Edward had gone there, he told us about some changes that were taking place within the photography department staffing; programs were being expanded and they were looking for SFAI grads to do some teaching.

Edward merely nodded, listening thoughtfully to Dave. I didn't ask more about it, though I was dying to. I knew Edward would need to sit with this for a while before making any action to find out more. He took Dave's card at the end of the night, and as I expected, three days later he called him.

That's how, in July, we found ourselves moving from Seattle to San Francisco. Since I now had my masters, I applied back to SF Children's, and was given the job of Assistant Director of Finance, with the understanding that the current Director, my former boss, would retire within five years or so; and I would move up into her job.

Rosalie and Em were glad we were back in California, though we were still a long ways from them. They could drive it in a day, though; and that was fine with them. Their boys were getting older and better able to handle a long car trip. They came to visit us several times a year, and we made the trip to see them as well. Mama and Dad, too, were glad the flight wasn't quite as long; though no flight of any length would have kept them away.

Carlisle, Esme and Alice were sad – tremendously sad – that we decided to leave Seattle. They would miss us, and they would miss Annie. They understood, though, that young families have to do what works for them; and they supported us completely. Alice had been seeing Ian, a very pleasant man for about 18 months by then, and things were pretty serious. We weren't surprised when, our first Christmas in San Francisco, they became engaged.

So now, Annie is four. We've been in San Francisco for two years and we love it. We have a little house in the Castro district, which has undergone a gradual shift in recent years, from gay ghetto to family neighborhood. Annie goes to a pre-K near our home; and between Edward and me, we have arranged our schedules so that we don't need a nanny. We have a neighbor whose teenage daughter is our babysitter on the occasional night out. She has bright red streaks in her hair and a ring in her nose – Annie idolizes her.

The days of going out to clubs till 2 am, and then coming home to fuck till dawn, are over for us. Even this past week, while Annie has been visiting her grandparents, we went out to a club once – and spend the entire next day recuperating. The nights we spend at home, though, are often as steamy as they've ever been – our passion for each other has never cooled. Edward still gets me as hot as he always has; if anything, that aspect of our life just gets better as time passes.

Tonight, though, we are both snuggled into bed with our beautiful girl, reading to her, hearing about all the things she did in Seattle, and just loving on her. Even after we turn out the light, Edward and I lie flanking her till she falls asleep.

As her breathing deepens, Edward looks over the top of her head at me. "Annie asked me tonight," he whispers, "why we don't have two children like Kathleen or like Aunt Rosie."

"That's nothing new," I whisper back. "She's been clamoring for a baby for a year."

"Yeah," he replies, and brushes a tray curl from her forehead. He is silent for a moment, then says, "Think she's onto something?"

I hesitate before answering him, unsure whether he's truly serious. When he holds my gaze in the dim glow of Annie's night light, I slowly begin to realize that he's honestly suggesting an addition to our family.

"Really?" I almost squeak. It has occurred to me, of course; but neither of us has ever voiced anything about it. The thought of starting it all over again has been merely a random thought, dismissed in the space of a moment.

"Yeah," he smiles softly. "I admit, I've been thinking about it a lot the last couple of months."

"You haven't said anything," I reply.

"I wanted to be sure it was something I really wanted – not just nostalgia for when Annie was a baby." He kisses the top of her head softly. "What do you think?"

As I did when I tried to imagine Edward in my life, I close my eyes and let it take shape in my imagination. A baby – the baby in my mind is Annie, since she is my frame of reference – tiny, helpless and sweet. No Esme to help this time; but Edward no longer travels for work so he will be home. Annie – a big sister. She adores babies and has begged us for a little sibling; she would be over the moon if we decided to have another.

"We still have some of Rosie's eggs at the fertility clinic," I muse. "But do you really want to go through it all again?"

"Actually…what would you say to adopting this time?" he suggests. As soon as the words leave his mouth, my mind shifts gears. Providing a loving family to a child who needs us – it just feels _right._

"Angel?" he prompts.

In answer, I take his hand, leading him out of Annie's room and closing the door behind us. I draw him down the hall and into our bedroom. Inside, I tenderly take his face in my hands.

"I want to be the daddy to another baby with you, beautiful," I whisper.

He wraps his arms around my waist, drawing me to him and kissing me deeply. I pull him to the bed, lying beneath him; his body presses against mine as our passion grows.

Edward and I may not be creating this child together – our biology does not, perhaps, allow the physical creation of a human. But with this act of consummation, the _idea_ of our future child is conceived – and it feels as corporeal, as tangible, as if we could hold the child in our arms now. Every caress, every kiss…every thread of pleasure weaves the fabric of our future.

And when our passion is spent and we lie cradled in each other's arms, I know that with this addition, our lives will be complete. Our happiness and love will only grow; perhaps more than we can even imagine.

After all, our lives will be over the top.

-o-


	32. Jack Charles Outtake

-o-

 _Jack_

I was trapped. Caught between my loyalty to my best friend, and my preservation instinct.

As in love as I was with Ashton, the realist in me never allowed me to jeopardize our friendship by telling him. I wondered many times whether he already knew. He would never have been threatened by knowing – naturally he already knew I was gay – but I didn't want to do anything to introduce any kind of awkwardness, even a temporary one, to our relationship. So the man to whom I told everything, never heard me tell him that I was in love with him.

The weekend of Jasper and Edward's wedding found me taking a three-day weekend – almost unheard of for me, a workaholic – and catching a Friday afternoon flight to Austin. I had travelled alone, most of our friends having flown out in the morning. I could have booked a flight at the same time they did, but chose a later flight, preferring to fly by myself. I blamed it on having waited too long to book; everyone seemed to buy my story, except Ashton. He didn't say anything, but he did give me a peculiar look, knowing that I'd never left anything too late in my life. In my line of work – a stock broker – if you leave something too late, you cost your clients, and yourself, a shitload of money. Ashton didn't question me, though; and I was grateful. As good a friend as he was, he never pried, knowing that I would always share with him when I was ready.

I arrived at the hotel in time to shower, change and go out to dinner with our friends. We had a great time – a really nice, relaxing evening. Kathleen and Ashton were staying in the same hotel as me, so after dinner the three of us walked back to the hotel together, and they came to my room for a drink. After they said good night and went to their room, instead of getting ready for bed, I changed into some slim jeans and a sleeveless, button-up black shirt. I grabbed my laptop and looked up gay clubs in Austin - it seemed Charlie's was the place to go. Downstairs, I flagged a cab and headed to the bar. I was going for one reason, and one only: I wanted a fuck.

I could have waited till I got back to Seattle – I'd be going back in two days – but it was next to impossible to pick up an anonymous fuck there. And I never wanted to see this person, whoever he turned out to be, again.

At the club, I grabbed a drink and stood at the bar, just watching. Some kind of contest was being held on the stage – the same type of shit that went on at Spin, and XY, and every other gay dance club in the fucking country – but fortunately down on the dance floor, things were still moving. I watched for a few moments, until I felt a finger hook into my belt loop. I turned to look at the finger's owner, meeting a friendly, interested gaze.

"Hey there," said the boy who'd hooked me.

"Hi," I replied, glancing over his shaggy, dirty-blonde hair. He looked like a surfer.

"You're new here," he said, punctuating his interest by running his tongue quickly over his top lip.

"Visiting," I corrected. "Just for the weekend."

"A Yankee?" he asking, tilting his head.

I shook my head. "Seattle."

"Oh," he grinned. "Wanna dance, Seattle?"

I nodded, setting my empty glass on the bar. I let him lead me to the dance floor, where a _lot_ of guys had already doffed their shirts, preferring to dance topless. He soon stripped his shirt off as well, revealing a slim, hairless chest and a tattoo on his left pec. As we danced, he inched closer to me; I liked that he wasn't being too aggressive; as the truly forward guys really turned me off. Truth be told, what really did it for me was someone who was a little shy – not inexperienced, mind you, but not a walking invitation, either. Shy guys were something I almost never saw, certainly not at gay clubs.

I was on the third song with this guy and was thinking he'd do, for me to take home, when someone else caught my eye.

He was inching closer to me, every few minutes moving a bit nearer. He certainly appeared to be trying to check me out without being obvious. I appreciated him not coming up and pouncing on me, especially when I was already dancing with someone else, which wouldn't have stood in the way of _many_ of these guys. This kid seemed to be more polite than many of the twinks I'd met in my life – the polar opposite, for instance, of that fucking punk, Cody.

When the dirty blonde had turned to a friend for a moment, shouting a conversation with the friend while they jumped up and down to the beat, I took the opportunity to slide carefully the remaining few feet until I was standing in front of the other boy.

He was young, with thick, shoulder-length brown hair and a fine nose. The curves of his top lip were rounded, delicate arches rather than coming up into points; his bottom lip was a lush cushion, soft and full, giving him a slightly petulant look.

"Hi," he said, sounding a bit shy, despite having approached me. "I'm Jacey."

"Jack," I said, moving close to him, dancing so that my pelvis would occasionally brush his as we gyrated to the throbbing music. He too was shirtless, and soon I reached to put my hands low on his sides, to follow the smooth sway of his hips. Hesitantly, he lifted his hands to rest on my pecs, and he started to get into the music more, his eyes closing, his head lolling back. When he tipped his head and neck back, his pelvis would tilt forward, pressing against mine. I could feel the iron stiffness of his young cock, and it felt so goddamn good pressing into mine.

His chest was completely smooth – not even a treasure trail peeked out from the top of his jeans. I licked the shallow valley that extended from his collarbone all the way to his novel – the planes of his chest were quite flat and angular, but god, he was beautiful. He would give me a demure look from under his dark eyebrows, and my cock would fucking jump. If he kept rubbing his cock against mine, he'd have me coming right there on the goddamn dance floor.

I pulled him closer so that his chest pressed into mine, hoping it would relieve the pressure against the front of my jeans. His face was close, and he looked into my eyes for a moment before looking away self-consciously. I took advantage of his exposed neck being so close, and tongued his neck from his collarbone to his earlobe. He shivered and his hands grasped my biceps, before a little moan escaped him. He was reserved enough that he wouldn't initiate a touch or a caress, but Jesus, did he respond when I did. So passionate – it was driving me crazy. Vaguely I wondered whether he was more verdant than I'd realized.

"Want to get out of here with me?" I asked when he had leaned his chest into mine, sliding his arms up around my neck. He dipped his chin, giving me that reticent look, and then he looked down. His dark eyelashes swept his reddening cheeks. I was almost convinced now that he'd never been with a guy before; and was about to ask him, when he finally spoke.

"Yes, please," he murmured; I repressed a smile at his use of the word _please_. He was polite, too; this boy knew how to push every single button I had. He took my hand – the first move he had made – and led me to where a brown v-neck t-shirt was lying over the back of a chair; he threw it back on. The shirt was ribbed, fitting his slim body snugly, and Jesus Christ, he was so fucking gorgeous.

Outside, he waited quietly beside me when I hailed a cab. In the cab, I told the driver the name of my hotel, and Jacey looked at me quizzically. "You don't live in Austin?" he asked quietly.

"No," I replied, "I'm from Seattle." I saw the cab driver's eyes flicker to the mirror to look at us. I had slid my arm around Jacey's shoulders, not wanting to break contact with him; and the driver seemed surprised at learning that the young man was getting into a cab with me despite not even knowing I wasn't local. I rolled my eyes, wondering if the driver was new; cabbies usually knew that many of the people going home from here tonight would accompany someone with whom they'd exchanged much less information than Jacey and I had.

Jacey was in the middle of the back seat, pressed against me. He turned towards me and rested his head against my shoulder. It surprised me – it was such an uncommonly intimate gesture. So much about what this guy was doing was not the typical club boy behavior – I was becoming more convinced that he had little or no sexual experience.

I knew I needed to ask him before we progressed any further, but I didn't want to do so in front of the nosy cabbie. I decided to wait until we got to the hotel. When we pulled up in front, I handed the driver enough cash to cover the fare and the tip, and slid out of the car, holding the door open till Jacey got out. He paused for a second in the seat, looking at the cabbie who said something to him that I couldn't hear.

"No, thank you," Jacey politely answered with a smile. "I appreciate you asking, though."

After I closed the door behind him and the cab drove off, I asked him what the driver had said. "He said I didn't have to get out; that if I was feeling unsafe I could stay in and he'd take me where I wanted to go, no charge."

I was surprised, but oddly grateful for the cab driver's vigilance; he was being watchful, and that was well beyond what his job required of him. I was also glad that, given the chance to back out, Jacey chose to stay with me.

I kept my arm around his shoulder, steering him to the bank of elevators past the lobby of the hotel. As we rode up the elevator to the tenth floor, we were silent; Jacey's breathing seemed a bit heavy, but I didn't have anything to compare it to.

I looked down at him, and he was staring down at his feet, his full lower lip pulled between his teeth. I pressed my lips to his ear. "Have you done this before, Jacey?"

He lifted his face to mine. "Yes," he replied.

"You seem a little…unsure?" I continued.

He cast his eyes downward again, and his cheeks colored. "I haven't done it a lot…a few times in freshman year, with a guy from my dorm. Never with someone…"

"Old?" I supplied.

"Beautiful," he corrected. "You're stunning. It's…pretty intimidating."

 _I_ was beautiful? Clearly this boy had never looked in a mirror. I was wondering how this could be, when the elevator bell signaled that we had reached my floor. The doors slid open, and I released his shoulder, instead taking his hand in mine, and leading him down the hall to my room.

Inside, I flipped on a light – just the smallest one, to cast a faint glow in the room – and threw my wallet and keys on the dresser. Jacey stood, his hands jammed in his pockets awkwardly as he looked around the room. I kicked off my shoes and he followed my lead. I came and stood before him, then turned him around to face the full-length mirror on the wall. I stood behind him, about four inches taller, looking over his shoulder.

"Apparently," I began, "you haven't figured out yet that you're gorgeous. And not in the 'in a certain light' way. You are exquisite, and sexy, and I just about came tonight at the club when you gave me that enticing look." As if on cue, he tucked his chin in, his expression of innocent consternation almost making my knees buckle. "That look," I said, "right there. Jesus, you're captivating." He smiled then, shy but obviously pleased with my assessment. I turned him to face me, and traced my fingers across his face, gliding my fingertips over his beautiful full lips.

"Captivating," I repeated in a whisper. Cupping his face with my hand, I leaned in, finally feeling those plush lips against mine; they were soft and warm and moved in perfect synchronicity with my mouth. My other hand slid around the back of his waist, pulling his lower body to me. My cock received a sharp jolt as his hips met mine, and I moaned into his mouth.

He moaned too, and god, I'd never felt anyone respond to me the way he did. I was certain it was likely just his own nature that caused him to respond to me like this – he was surely shy and reserved until someone came along who could unlock the passion that simmered within him. Jesus, I was sure as hell the one benefiting from it tonight.

I slid my hand under his shirt at the back and started to pull upwards, and he pulled away for a second, lifting his arms so I could tug the shirt up over his head. He unbuttoned my shirt, sliding it over my shoulders. Finally making a move, he slid the palms of his hands across my also-smooth chest, his eyes looking a little awestruck. Despite my busy work life, I spent quite a bit of time at the gym with either Ashton or Jasper, and I knew it showed – I was pretty buff.

He stared at my chest for a moment, and then, as though drawn by a force he was powerless to stop, his mouth moved immediately to my nipple. He sucked and licked forever, it seemed like, alternating between the two. Finally, he relented, and his soft, warm tongue travelled up to my collarbone; where it lingered before continuing up my neck. I knew I was benefiting from a rare specimen – someone who was perhaps twenty years old, who could take his time, and who knew instinctively how to make me feel amazing, despite his limited experience.

Eventually, I had to pull away – my cock was throbbing and I just could not leave it bound up in my jeans any longer. I unbuttoned my jeans, sliding them down over my hips; I debated whether to doff my briefs as well, but decided to let him do that when he was ready. Instead I moved to _his_ jeans, undoing the button fly and letting them slide off his slim hips. He was wearing low-rise briefs, and I palmed his cock through the thin fabric. He was _hard_ , and certainly felt very nicely-endowed. He watched me stroke his cock through the fabric; then, finally, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband, and pulled down the front. His cock when it was released stood out like a fucking homing missile, and it was a gorgeous cock. He smiled at me when I looked up with a wide grin, and I pushed his briefs off his ass and they fell to the floor.

"Beautiful," I murmured, gently stroking him. He didn't answer, instead taking the waist of my own briefs and quickly pushing them down. My prick was a goddamn iron bar when it was finally released, and Jacey's eyes widened at the sight of the thick, heavy cock.

"Has anyone sucked your cock before, Jacey?" I asked.

He blushed and looked down, nodding slightly. "Once," he whispered, barely audible.

I stroked his cheek and spoke again. "I'd like to suck it. Do you want that?" He caught his breath, nodding again, and I led him to the chair, encouraging him to sit and slide his ass forward to the edge of the seat. I knelt in front of him, and just before I took him into my mouth, I looked up at his face.

His lips were parted slightly, that beautiful full bottom lip looking so fucking enticing. He was flushed and his breathing was already accelerated. His eyes were wide, but not with fear or apprehension – it was anticipation and desire I saw there.

With my tongue, I traced the circumference of the head of his cock, feeling him shiver at the poignant pleasure. I went slowly, knowing that he was receiving only the second blowjob of his young life – if I went down hard, he'd come in no time. I wanted to draw it out, let him enjoy the sensations. Gradually I took just the head into my mouth, slowly rotating my head one way and then the other, dragging my tongue along the underside of the glans. With each pass he would twitch, as though he was desperately fighting the urge to buck his hips towards me.

Soon I changed my movements to slide my lips and tongue further down his shaft; I applied just the lightest pressure, letting his desire build and his enjoyment continue. Still, he fought the urge to writhe beneath me; I didn't know how he was managing to keep as still as he did. I knew already how very responsive he was – it must have been exquisite torture for him not to grab my head and fuck my face.

I decided to ratchet up the suction a bit, increasing the vacuum inside my mouth. I also brought one hand up to gently massage his prostate through his perineum. He groaned when he felt my fingers stroking and pressing. His hands clutched the edges of the seat cushion beneath him; I reached up and guided his hands to my head, and he immediately wound his fingers through my hair, the pads of his fingers stroking my scalp.

I grasped the base of his cock and started to stroke upwards in rhythm with my mouth. At last, he couldn't stand it any longer and began to lift his hips upwards to meet my face. He moaned, softly at first, but growing in volume and intensity – I knew it wouldn't be long till I was swallowing his hot jizz.

Finally he stiffened, his body quaking beneath me, and I sucked hard; he cried out, tossing his head around as he flailed beneath me. With each thrust into my mouth, he shot his load down my throat, and I swallowed every drop greedily until he collapsed, gasping, slouched in the chair. I remained on my knees, laying my head on his abdomen while he recovered from his orgasm.

Eventually, when his breathing had regulated again, he whispered, "Thank you, Jack." It was the first time he'd said my name, and I looked up at him and smiled. His face was still flushed – he seemed in a perpetual state of embarrassment – but god, he was beautiful with that high color.

"Do you think you could do that to me, Jacey?" I asked him, trying my best to speak softly and non-threateningly.

"I'd like to…" he hesitated.

"Yes?" I prompted.

"I don't know if I'm any good at it," he murmured.

"What if I talk you through it?" I asked, reaching up to stroke his red cheek.

He nodded again, his face straining with desire. "Yes," he moaned, almost a whisper.

"Yes, what?" I teased gently.

"Yes, I want to…" He couldn't say the words.

"Yes, I want to suck your cock," I prompted him.

"Yes, I want to suck your cock," he said, the torment of his desire evident in his voice. I stood up, taking his hand and leading him to the bed. I lay down on my back and he crawled across the bed to me, kneeling over me. I instructed him on how to use his tongue to find the most sensitive spots, how to pay attention to the reaction he got to learn what felt good, to think about where it felt best when he touched himself. His mouth was so willing, and when I finally got to feel that plush lower lip hugging the underside of my cock – pure fucking heaven.

Once he got a little more comfortable with what he was doing, it turned out that he actually had a good deal of natural talent in this regard. Deeper and deeper down his throat he took me, swallowing against the gag reflex as I suggested to him. God, the way he almost swallowed my cock, taking it so far down his throat that I didn't understand how he could breathe. He was fucking gifted.

I didn't want to come this way, though; so before I was too far gone, I stopped him. He looked confused for a moment, then hurt. "Didn't I do it right?" he asked dolefully.

I pulled him to me, slipping my arms around his shoulders. "You did great," I told him. "You're very good, and not just for a first-timer; you're good for just about anyone. But," I continued, reaching to the toiletries kit on the nightstand where my lube and condoms waited, "I've been fucking dying to get inside you ever since I saw you at the club." He smiled softly, and looked down at the condom. I opened the packet and handed it to him. "Put it on me."

After he put it on me facing the right way, he unrolled it down my cock. "Kneel on the bed, and put your head down on your arms," I told him, and grabbed the lube. Carefully, I rubbed lube around his anus; he moaned when I gently pressed into the delicate pucker itself. I took time to massage the muscle, relaxing and preparing it so it wouldn't be too painful for him. He moaned softly at the touch of my fingers, his beautiful cock again becoming turgid as it hung down between his legs.

Soon, he was ready, and after I had put some more lube on the condom, I murmured, "Are you ready, Jacey?" His eyes were closed; and rather than opening them, he simply nodded. I stroked his back with one hand as I used the other to hold my cock steady. I pushed slowly and carefully, watching his face for signs of discomfort as I entered him. Once the head slipped past his entrance, I stopped. "Okay?" I asked. He didn't answer; his breathing was labored and his eyes were still screwed shut. "Jacey?" I persisted. "I'm going to stop if hurts too much."

He shook his head this time, answering, "It's okay. Just go slow."

"Okay," I replied. "I promise it'll get better soon." I pushed slowly and used my still-lubed hand to reach under him, playing with the head of his cock; as I did I murmured apologies and encouragements to him, and he responded with quiet moans and whimpers. When my entire length rested inside him, we both stilled; I continued to play with his cock, and his hands reached out to grasp the top edge of the mattress.

"You're so hot, Jacey," I murmured, intending to work him into a fever pitch before I began to pull out again. "Such a beautiful face…a sweet mouth that was fucking made to suck cock…and a tight ass that feels like satin…" He shuddered as I spoke to him; he arched his back up towards me, then thrust his hips backwards, begging me to continue. I fucked him slowly, pulling out till just the head remained in him and sliding deep into him again. I continued this slow and steady pace until he reached back to stop me.

He began to grind his ass back into me, moving his hips in slow, small circles. Jesus Christ, for someone without much experience, he was intuitive; he was now the one working _me_ towards my climax. Far too soon, I had to stop him – I was getting too close and I wasn't ready to come. I wanted us to enjoy each other for a while yet.

I placed my hands on his hips, stilling him; at the same time I spoke so he wouldn't think, again, that he was doing something wrong. "Ungh, you're so fucking good…too good," I said. "Give me a minute." I saw him smile – proud of himself, I was sure, at realizing he was good at this.

I suggested, "How about I lay on my back, and you can ride my cock?" He agreed eagerly, and when we had repositioned ourselves, I hung onto his slim hips as he sank down onto my cock, gripping me again in his tight embrace. His eyes were closed, his head tipped back; his mouth was open slightly, and his tongue came out to lick his lips as he took my length. He sat for a moment, flexing his PC muscles; massaging my shaft from the inside. I reached up to his nipples, tweaking and pinching them. We were playing a game, he and I, seeing who could most tantalize the other, driving the desire between us to new heights.

Finally, I had enough teasing. I grabbed his hips again and lifted him slightly, so I could fuck him hard. He cried out, his cries mixing with the slapping sounds of my groin against his ass and thighs. "Play with your cock, Jacey," I commanded him hoarsely; and one hand came to his cock while the other went up to finger and twist his nipple. I continued to watch his exquisite face as his release drew near. I was determined to hold back my orgasm until after I watched him come.

I didn't have to wait long; very soon his body was tightening, trembling and ready to explode. The place where we were joined became impossibly tighter, and he sat down, hard, on me, forcing my ass back to the bed. He ground himself against me and shouted his release; hot white cum erupted from him, spattering my chest and stomach. His shout became a wail as the waves of pleasure battered him. I held my body as still as I could, forcing my orgasm to wait until he had come down from his. Eventually, he took one last deep breath, and exhaled in a long gust. His body fell forward slightly, his head falling so he was looking at me.

It was my turn now, and I wanted him to see me come, to witness the pleasure he brought me. "Watch me, Jacey," I urged him, my voice straining with my delayed pleasure. "Watch me when I come, buried deep in your ass." I raised his hips again, and drove into him, once, twice…a third time, and then I held there, pushing my cock as far into him as I could. His ass still spasmed slightly with the aftershocks of his orgasm, and it put me over the edge.

"Ungh!" I shouted, fucking him deep and hard as my orgasm racked my body. "Jacey," I groaned, punctuating each word with a slam deep inside him, "so…fucking…good…fuck…yeah." I was sweating and panting, teased by his beauty and his nubile body till I broke.

When my orgasm subsided and the only sounds in the room were the two of us trying to catch our breath, Jacey leaned forward, lying on my chest, his face against my pecs. His hands rested beneath his shoulders on my chest. I ran my fingers through his shoulder-length hair, reveling in his softness at my fingertips. We lay that way for a long time, his legs still flanking my body; and it occurred to me that I could very happily remain this way all night.

All too soon, though, reality intruded upon my idyll. I knew Kathleen and Ashton would expect to see me at breakfast tomorrow morning; and with their room being on an upper floor, they would very likely come by the room to get me when they were on their way to the restaurant. I didn't care if they knew I'd hooked up with someone; it was very different, though, if they ran into him in my room – that didn't seem like a very classy thing to do, and it was unfair to both Jacey and to Kathleen and Ashton.

It was just more than I wanted to share. So I decided to give it a couple of hours, let him stay for that time if he wanted to; and then let him now I had friends coming over and though he was welcome to stay, he may wish to head off.

Presently Jacey asked softly, "How long are you in Austin?"

"Till Sunday afternoon," I answered. "I'm here for a wedding."

"Will you come back to the club tomorrow night?" he asked.

"Tomorrow night I'll be out at Lake LBJ," I replied.

"Long drive," he commented.

"So I hear," I nodded. "I've never been before."

"I'm from Kingsland," he replied. Apparently he wasn't quite so reserved when he wasn't nervous any longer. "About 25 minutes past Marble Falls."

"So you moved to Austin for school?" I asked, wanting to know more about this boy now that he had started to open up a bit.

"Yeah," he confirmed. "UT Austin."

"What are you taking?"

"Bachelor of Fine Arts in Design," he answered. "I'm a sophomore."

A sophomore. As I'd suspected, he was around twenty years old – quite a bit younger than my 27. I rubbed my hand over my face, wondering what I was doing. Normally I never went for someone that much younger; I didn't usually find myself attracted to youngsters. What was it about his one that had caught my eye?

 _Oh well_ , I thought. _It's just once, thousands of miles from home._

Soon he said, "I should probably get going…"

"I guess," I agreed reluctantly, though I knew he had to.

He drew himself up off my chest, and while he dressed, I ducked into the bathroom and disposed of the condom, taking a moment to clean myself up. I threw on my pants and a t-shirt and said, "I'll walk you downstairs." He nodded, and I grabbed my wallet and the keycard for the room.

Downstairs, I had the concierge call a cab to take Jacey home, and we stood outside on the sidewalk waiting. The night air had cooled and a light breeze blew through Jacey's shoulder-length hair. After our superheated activities upstairs, he was chilly; he shivered in his t-shirt. Standing behind him, I slid my arms around his waist and pressed my body against him, hoping to help warm him a bit. He leaned his head back against my chest.

"Come back to the club tomorrow night," he murmured.

I shook my head. "By the time I get back to the city, it'll be too late…"

He turned in my arms, his face looking earnestly into mine. "I'll wait until they kick me out," he whispered.

"I won't be there," I told him, trying to be gentle but still unequivocal in my reply. Over his shoulder, the taxi pulled up behind him; I held a finger up to the driver to signal that we'd be just a minute. "Taxi's here," I said quietly to Jacey.

He sighed softly and nodded, then looked at my mouth. I had kissed him in my room before we had sex; but frankly, I wasn't much for kissing except when I was actually in a relationship with someone. I almost never kissed someone who was just a random fuck. Jacey, though…

It took me no time to decide. I leaned in, and that delicious mouth that had brought me such pleasure tonight, pressed to mine again. I took his lower lip into my mouth, adulating its pillowy softness. I didn't release him until he sighed a soft purr.

Finally he stepped back from me, his hands lingering on my chest until he could no longer touch. "I'll be there tomorrow night," he said again, before getting into the cab. I simply shook my head, not bothering to repeat my assurance that I would not be. I opened the front door of the cab and gave the driver $100, asking him to take Jacey wherever he needed to go, and keep the change.

"Yes, sir!" said the driver, his eyes widening at the stack of twenties.

I stepped back away from the cab. Jacey watched me through the window, a little smile on his face, until the cab pulled away. After the cab disappeared down the street, I shook my head again, smiling to myself that he just would not take no for an answer. I knew, however, that I would not see Jacey the following night; or ever again, for that matter.

The next day was clear, warm and beautiful – a perfect day for Jasper and Edward's wedding. Along with everyone else there, I felt their joy as they exchanged their vows, shared their first dance and mingled with the friends and family who loved them so much.

During the reception, though, I saw them corner Kathleen and Ashton. They quietly demanded to know the meaning of the sparkling diamond on her left hand – which I had somehow managed to miss, despite having driven the three of us from Austin out to the wedding earlier, and despite having sat beside them during the ceremony _and_ reception. As soon as I saw them talking, however, I realized; it hit me that Ashton had walked around the entire day today with a wide grin plastered on his face, and Kathleen had a light in her eyes that made her always-lovely face almost glow. I spent so much time in my own bubble that I barely looked at the two of them, certainly not with a very observant eye – especially when they were together. But it was obvious what had happened once we had gone our separate ways last night – Ashton had proposed to Kathleen.

Though I had suspected for several months that this day was coming, it still felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. I watched them, listening from about fifteen feet away, as Kathleen spilled the beans and then insisted that Jasper and Edward keep it to themselves; they didn't want to steal the spotlight from the newlyweds. _Because she's pure class,_ I thought bitterly to myself. I couldn't even bring myself to dislike, much less hate, the woman with whom Ashton would spend his life. She was sweet and kind, intelligent, and a wonderful friend; and she was completely in love with him. I couldn't choose better for him.

Almost.

Shortly after Edward and Jasper left the reception, the three of us took our leave as well. I drove us back to the hotel, and though Kathleen suggested a nightcap in the hotel bar, I declined, claiming exhaustion. I encouraged the two of them to go ahead, and then I headed up to my room.

Upstairs, I finally allowed myself to release some of the emotion I'd been holding back since the reception. I'm not a crier; I ended up doubling up a pillow and shouting into it – one loud, sustained blast. It would get me through till I could get to the gym and work out some of my disappointment and frustration on the treadmill.

What was I going to do? Ashton was my best friend, and he'd asked me in the car to be his best man. I knew I would do that for him; but beyond that? I knew I needed to make some changes. I couldn't tell him I loved him – I wouldn't tell him – but I was not willing to just stand outside their little snow globe of happiness, watching them marry and have their little family and their perfect life. I could not witness that for the next twenty years.

Grimacing, I pulled a business card from my wallet. It had been given to me by an employee of a firm that operated from the Merc in Chicago. "If you're ever looking for a change," he'd said, "look me up."

 _Looking for a change._

I _was_ looking for a change, I realized; one that would take me away from having to watch, firsthand, my best friend's happiness with someone else. The question was, how big a change was I willing to make? Chicago? I hadn't lived so far east since I'd left Harvard with my Econ degree, five years ago. Could I do that now?

I wasn't sure, but I knew I wasn't going to make this decision tonight. First I'd need to find out whether anything was even available at this firm still – the economic crisis of a couple of years ago had hit hard in Chicago. Then, maybe, I'd give it serious consideration.

I was frustrated that there was nothing I could do about it right now, being the middle of the night on a weekend; and I felt restless. Sighing, I glanced at the clock on the nightstand beside my bed. 12:30 p.m. We hadn't stayed much beyond when Edward and Jasper had left the reception, and in my desire not to spend too much time in the car with Kathleen and Ashton, I had sped all the way back to Austin. So I found myself with more time than I had expected, and despite the fact that I'd told my friends I was worn out, I really was not. Rather, I was seriously considering leaving the hotel again – and fighting myself on it, every step of the way.

I paced around my room, firing a series of questions at what I found myself wanting to do. Was I really considering this? _Why_ was I considering it? Where did I think it would lead? Even if I was only thinking just another night together, what message would it send Jacey?

Because what I wanted – what I was trying to convince myself _not_ to do – was to go to that club again, where Jacey had promised me he would wait. I wanted to go there, and find him, and bring him back to my hotel, and spend a good hour just kissing him; and then spend another hour – at least – licking and sucking and fucking worshiping his cock. And then…I groaned, sinking onto my bed, remembering what had happened in this very bed last night. And I knew the part of me that wanted Jacey, would carry the argument.

Which is how, forty minutes later, after a quick shower and a change of clothes, I found myself walking through the front door of Charlie's for the second night. I looked around the large room, not bothering to get a drink, because I hoped I wouldn't be staying long. Jacey would know, when he saw me, why I was here. He would understand that, despite my insistence that I would not be back, I had indeed come here solely to see him.

I wandered through the club a bit, trying to find him; but trying not to _look_ like I was trying to find him. I was beginning to worry that I had come too late; that maybe he had, after all, believed me when I said I wouldn't be there, and had decided not to come out tonight. Perhaps he showed up but went home with someone else. All these possibilities ran through my head; and I ignored the voice that asked me why I'd honestly care if he wasn't there. But everything was forgotten when, coming around a support beam, I spotted him about ten feet away.

He didn't see me right away, and I'd have sworn that, as he stood with his back to the bar, looking out onto the dance floor, he looked like he was disappointed, almost pouting. Was it because he was looking for me and didn't see me? Or was it just that lower lip that nature had featured prominently on his face, playing on my hopes? Regardless, I was again struck by his beauty; and realized I was walking towards him only after I had already taken about three steps in his direction.

He happened to look away from my direction as I approached, so I was standing beside him before he caught me in his peripheral vision and turned to me. He gave me a look of surprise at first, then his face was immediately transformed. The petulance disappeared, and in its place was a bright, genuine smile. It was so warm that I couldn't help but respond in kind.

"Hey there," I said, sliding one hand to rest in the small of his back.

"Thought you said you wouldn't be here," he grinned, stepping closer, further into the crook of my arm.

"Plans changed," I shrugged, trying to be nonchalant.

He merely nodded slowly, amusement playing around his eyes. "I'm glad you're here. I knew it was a long shot, but I hoped…"

"I'm still going home tomorrow," I said honestly. "That hasn't changed. But if you're willing, I'd really like to take you back to my hotel room," I paused and leaned in closer to murmur in his ear, "and this time, I don't want you to leave in the middle of the night."

"Mmm," he hummed, and turned his head so he could press his lips to mine. I allowed myself to melt into the kiss. Everything about him reignited the passion I'd felt for him last night – his scent, his looks, his lips and his warm body, so close to mine. He released my lips and I sucked in a sharp breath, pulling his hips closer to mine.

"I hope that was a yes," I murmured, and he smiled again, nodding.

I had taken a cab to the club, not wanting to bother with getting the rental car back out of the hotel's parking garage; so for the second night in a row, Jacey and I took a cab to my hotel. I couldn't say whether the new cab driver found anything unusual about us, because we barely noticed him. The whole drive back was spent making out, whispering obscenities, and generally being completely absorbed in each other. Before we knew it we were at the hotel. Jacey slid out of the cab while I tossed some bills to the driver.

The night concierge recognized us and greeted us both as we made our way through the hotel lobby to the elevators. On our way up to my floor, Jacey wrapped his arms around my neck, licking and sucking gently, driving me fucking nuts. It was plain to see that his confidence level had taken an increase – whether it was because we'd been together last night, or because I came looking for him again this evening; or perhaps some combination of the two events. Whatever the case, I loved it. I'd known the night before that he was intensely passionate – I'd seen it in the way he responded to my touches and caresses. His confidence boost didn't make him undesirable or arrogant – just removed the insecurity and doubt that had held him back last night.

In my room, we each doffed our clothes immediately; and once we had no encumbrances between us, we slipped under the covers of the bed together. I groaned as I felt his long, lean naked body stretched against the length of mine. I rolled on top of him immediately, determined to get that hour of kissing – or at least take a crack at it. For many long moments, our mouths were joined, our tongues dancing – sometimes a slow, gentle repartee, other times a throbbing, demanding incursion into each other. Fuck, he could kiss. And every time one of us shifted our hips, our cocks would benefit from the pressing, rubbing, shifting movement of our bodies.

Finally Jacey broke our kiss, pulling away so he could whisper in my ear. "Jaaack," he moaned, his voice hoarse with lust, "Jack, please fuck me. I haven't stopped thinking about it since I was here last night – your cock in me, stretching me, filing me up. Please." His voice took on a pleading tone, and fuck, I was the last person who could deny him, even in the interest of delayed gratification. I reached immediately for the lube and squeezed a generous amount onto my fingers. Jacey, instead of kneeling as he'd done last night, slid the soles of his feet up the bed so his knees were in the air. He wanted me to take him on his back. I slid my lubed fingers into his tight hole, and he grimaced slightly.

"Sore?" I asked.

"A little," he admitted. "You fucked me well last night." His eyes gleamed.

"Are you okay for tonight?"

"Oh yeah," he moaned, both in answer and in gratitude, as my fingers continued to work inside him, relaxing the muscle and preparing him. As I probed him, I leaned down to take his rigid cock into my mouth. He wasn't the only one who'd been thinking about since he left; I hummed around him when the head of his cock was reintroduced to the back of my throat.

Unlike last night, he did not expend the effort trying to restrain his movements or subdue his response. His energies were instead directed outward, his soft vocalizations making me fucking ache and his entire body undulating with the lust that roiled within him. I reached down to my own cock to twist my fingers around the head for a few moments, until I decided he was ready. Withdrawing my fingers and mouth from him, I snagged a condom from the nightstand and quickly put it on, slicking it with the lube.

"It's time, Jacey," I murmured, supporting my upper body with my arms so that my face hovered inches above his. "It's time for you to take my cock, deep inside your tight ass. You want that, don't you, sweet boy. You want to feel my hard cock stretching you and filling you."

Jack's eyes were screwed shut, his face painted with anticipation and lust; and I thought I discerned some anxiety there as well. I would soon erase the anxiety. I pushed one fingertip into his ass, and then I slid the head of my cock in beside it. I began to move the finger around the circumference, sliding between my cock and his anus – the effect was at once pleasurable and mildly painful, as it stretched the muscle farther than my cock did.

"Relax, sweet boy," I admonished him, instructing him to take a deep breath; when he let it out, I slid my cock steadily into him, filling him with one smooth motion. My fingertip was still hooked inside him, and I slid it deeper so I could stimulate his prostate with my fingertip.

"Aaaugh," he almost wailed when I grazed the sensitive gland. His hands reached out for me, grabbing my head; he pulled my face to his and opened his mouth wide, beckoning my tongue to enter him as my cock and fingers were. I obliged willingly, sweeping his mouth; our tongues moved together passionately. I hadn't yet started to pull out of him, but my finger was still gently massaging his male g-spot, and he broke the kiss, his body shuddering as he begged me not to make him come yet.

"I want you to come for me, sweet boy," I urged him. "Don't worry – I'll make you come again." He was lost to his pleasure then, his moans becoming a high keening sound as he exploded. Fuck, he wasn't even touching his cock and he shot his load all over his belly and mine. He pulled my face to his again, kissing me, wailing into my mouth.

When he had come down from his orgasmic high, he went limp on the bed, his arms and legs collapsing beside him. His mouth hung open and his breathing came in shallow gasps. Not wanting him to lose the high, I withdrew my finger from him and lay down, placing my weight against the length of his body. I began to gently suck his nipples, alternating from one to the other. Once every thirty seconds or so, I would pull my hips up, withdrawing as far as the head of my cock, and then sinking deep into him again.

After several moments, he slid his arms under mine so he could wrap them around my waist. "Fuuuuuck," he drawled slowly, his post-orgasmic endorphins dropping him into slow motion. "It felt like you were splitting me in two…and then…I exploded," he explained simply, trying to name what he'd experienced.

"Fucking incredible, isn't it?" I murmured, and he nodded, pressing his face into my hand as it stroked his cheek.

"Thank you," he whispered, finally opening his eyes to look at me.

"The pleasure was mine," I replied.

He laughed quietly. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure I have to disagree with you there."

"No, it's true," I insisted. "Truly - I could watch you come over and over again. You lose yourself on a sea of endorphins and it's fucking mesmerizing to watch."

He shifted underneath me, and I could feel his cock pressing into me, still an iron bar. My own hard cock was still captured in his satin vice grip and when he moved, it sent shocks of pleasure through me. I groaned and rested my head on his shoulder, turning my face into his neck. He pressed his hips down into the bed, causing me to withdraw slightly, then pushed back towards me. Wordlessly, he was telling me what he wanted. He was ready to fuck.

Without lifting my head from his neck, I slid my arms under his shoulders, hooking my hands over his shoulders to give me maximum leverage to thrust into him. He brought his legs up over my back, hooking them together so that his ass was spread wide for me. And then we started to move, slowly grinding together. With every thrust of my hips, he rose to meet me, drawing me deep inside him. I had fucked my fair share of guys in my life, but I could honestly say I had never experienced anything like what I was feeling now with Jacey. The way he responded to me brought me pleasure I didn't know existed. I could very easily become addicted to him, if I gave myself the opportunity.

I was nearing my climax and from his reactions to me, I knew he was as well. "Jacey, you make me feel so good," I moaned into his ear, my voice ragged. "I'm going to come deep in your ass soon, sweet boy; are you going to come with me?" His arms were around my neck, and he nodded as he increased his hold on me, pulling my face deeper into his neck. Gathering all the strength I had, I pushed as deep into him as I could, and, holding there, I grunted as my orgasm exploded. Jacey's cock, trapped between our stomachs, throbbed and twitched as he, too, erupted in white-hot paroxysms. Our groans and cries blended together, a symphony of sexual percussion that filled the room.

For an eternity after our climax, we did not move, save when I grasped the base of the condom and pulled slowly out of Jacey's ass before my cock became too soft, and then pulled the blanket up over us. Otherwise, we remained where we were, completely spent; and thus we fell asleep, enmeshed.

-o-

In the morning, I ordered room service for us, and we ate in bed, talking and getting to know each other a bit better. There was nothing overtly sexual about it; but it was a very intimate event – just the two of us, existing inside a bubble. I'd had the presence of mind, last night, to hang the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door; so I knew we wouldn't be interrupted by Kathleen and Ashton. As the morning passed, we eventually lapsed into silence, stretched out side-by-side on the bed; not touching, but somehow still connected.

At last, Jacey broke the silence. "What time do you have to be at the airport?"

"My flight leaves at four," I replied, "and I have to be checked out of the hotel by noon."

"I guess we probably won't see each other again," he mused slowly.

The thought of walking away today and never seeing him again caused something in me to start to ache. I didn't understand why I was considering staying in touch with him; only that I knew that if I closed this door forever, I would certainly regret it to some extent. "I'll…give you my card?" I suggested lamely. "We can keep in touch. And…if you ever come to Seattle, well…"

"Yeah," he replied, the sadness in his voice suggesting that he didn't believe he would ever find himself in Seattle. "Do you mind if I take a shower before I go?"

"Of course not; help yourself. There are clean towels on the shelf," I told him. He nodded and pushed himself off the bed, slipping into the bathroom and closing the door without a word or a look back. As he showered, I moved about the room, gathering up my clothes and other items for my suitcase; and preparing my carry-on bag for the trip. I wore just a pair of boxer briefs while I packed up, intending to shower after him. When he came out of the bathroom with damp hair, wearing his jeans and t-shirt, I had pulled one of my business cards out of my wallet and had it on the sideboard along with another stack of twenties for his cab fare. He eyed the card and the money, then wordlessly put on his shoes.

When he was dressed, he took the business card, leaving the twenties on the table. "This is for you too," I said, but he shook his head.

"No thanks," he said stiffly; and I wondered if I had done something to offend him.

I stepped to him, sliding my arms around his waist. "Jacey," I asked, "what? Are you okay?"

"I don't want money," he said with a scowl, though he didn't look at my face.

"The money isn't for you," I replied. "It's for cab fare."

"That's a bit much for cab fare," he grumbled.

"It's a tip," I murmured, "to make sure the driver realizes he's conveying something precious. It's the same tip I gave the driver on Friday night when you left."

His eyes finally snapped to mine. "You paid that much," he gaped, "in advance?"

"Like I said, I wanted to make sure the driver knew that he was carrying precious cargo." He continued to stare at me for a long moment, then threw his arms around my neck and kissed me. I kissed him back, deeply, relishing the feel of his mouth against mine; I knew I may not feel this again for a long time – maybe never. But what I could not reconcile in my mind was how I became so attached to him so quickly. Was it just the sex – the fact that we had great chemistry and had spent two nights together? Or was there a possibility of something deeper?

As though reading my mind, he shook his head, saying, "This is crazy. I scared I'll never see you again; and I don't understand why I'm scared."

I stroked his face. "You have my card – use it," I urged him. "We'll stay in touch, and if there's any possibility of getting together, we'll meet somewhere – anywhere. I promise."

Silence fell upon us again – neither wanted to be the one to initiate our final separation. Eventually, though, I knew I had to get my ass in gear to get ready to return to Seattle. "I hate to say this, but…"

"Yeah," he nodded. "I know." He gave me a final squeeze and a chaste kiss on the lips, and then we released each other. He picked up the money from the sideboard and I nodded.

"Precious," I reminded him. He smiled softly; then, quickly turning to the door, he was gone.

I sighed, returning to my preparations for departure. Less than thirty seconds later, there was a knock on the door. I wondered what Jacey had forgotten; but when I opened it, instead of Jacey, there stood Ashton.

"Morning," he said with a grin.

"Hey," I said. "Morning."

"Have a pleasant evening?" he continued, his face betraying nothing.

"Yeah," I replied, remembering that I'd told him I intended to go right to bed after we got home. "Uh, you know – quiet."

"Really?" He raised an eyebrow at me, a smile playing about his face. "Quiet? Hmm. So you and the guy who just left your room – what, did you play Scrabble all night?"

I grimaced. Busted. Ashton nodded, finally allowing himself to break into a wide grin. "Jesus, bro, you don't have to lie to me," he said. "It's not like I've never gone out and picked up a one-night stand."

"Right," I said. A one-night stand.

"So listen, I know we're not on the same flight – and you should thank your lucky stars, by the way, because Kathleen wants to talk wedding stuff, and I'm sure she would take advantage of having you captive at 39,000 feet today. Anyways – do you think you could get together with us and Rachel one night this week?"

"Rachel?" I repeated blankly.

"Oh, yeah," he said. "Kathleen asked Rachel to be her maid of honor."

"Oh, right."

"At least she didn't ask Eve," he grinned, knowing I found Eve's over-the-top personality somewhat grating. _An assault on the senses_ was my usual opinion of her.

I felt myself beginning to tense as he talked about their wedding in such concrete terms. I'd had a hell of a weekend, between travelling and finding out Ashton's news and meeting Jacey and then having to say goodbye to Jacey…I was feeling shredded, and entirely unequal to sitting around discussing fucking wedding plans.

"Yeah, sorry, man," I replied, "you know what weeknights like for me."

"Of course," he said. "I told Kathleen I'd ask."

So this was what life was going to be like from now on – Ashton knew me, he knew probably better than anyone that I didn't make social plans on weeknights because of the demands of my job. And yet here he was, asking me to get together to _discuss fucking wedding plans_ on a weeknight.

With that, the decision was made. Preservation instinct won.

"We should get together to talk, though," I said, "because I have some big changes coming up myself."

"Really? This is the weekend for it, I guess," he grinned. "What's up?"

"Well, my plans aren't definite yet; but I'm pretty sure I'm moving."

"Cool!" he said. "Are you buying a place of your own?"

"Not exactly," I said. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for his reaction. "I've decided I need a change. I'm leaving Seattle."

"Leaving Seattle…?" he said blankly. "Where are you going?"

"I think," I said slowly, "…Chicago."

-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my! What will Ashton's reaction be when he finds out his best friend is moving two thousand miles away? And will Jack ever see Jacey again?
> 
> Well, this turned out to be more than just a simple outtake. If you've enjoyed Over The Top, I hope you will check out my next story called Deep Dish, which is a spinoff featuring Jack Charles.


	33. Outtake 1 - McDade

-o-

 _Edward_

This is, by far, the most dangerous thing I've ever done. I have climbed rock faces and hiked active volcanoes. I've stumbled through the streets of random cities, drunk and vulnerable. I've eaten highly questionable tacos in Mexico and washed them down with a volatile combination of tequila and cerveza. I've even met my lover's family – _after_ I broke his heart.

Some of those events scared me at the time; some frightened me later on when I had regained my proper senses, enough to realize what could have happened to me.

But never in my life have I been as terrified as I am now, staring down my date with destiny.

His eyes are brown and alert; his hair dark, coarse and spiky. He's dusty, yet the leather he's putting on gleams as though it was just polished. He watches me keenly, sensing my discomfort; I stand facing him so I can bolt if he makes one wrong move. He towers over me, and I know he knows who holds the power. He stamps his foot and I jump a good four feet backwards, my heart ending up somewhere behind my Adam's apple. He whinnies impatiently.

That's right – whinnies. Because this monster, the terrifying creature who will certainly bring me to my untimely end, is a horse named Wish. He lives on a ranch – what Jasper tells me is a "small" ranch – in McDade, Texas. My love, the man who has agreed to be my husband, has brought me here to an old school friend's house, for what he casually deems a "pleasure ride".

To me, a pleasure ride can be a lot of things – a Sunday drive or a hot lovemaking session. But straddling a huge, terrifying animal who will throw me off at the first chance, trampling me to death – no thanks.

Which is exactly what I told Jasper when he first suggested this. I thought I was quite unequivocal in my response; and yet here I am, mostly because he shamed me into going, reminding me of all the aforementioned acts of bravery.

"You're scaring him," remarks Andrea, the stable hand, in a bored tone as she runs over his back, sides and legs with a brush.

"Ha!" I retort. "I'm scaring _him_? That's a fucking joke."

"Horses sense fear," she replies with a roll of her eyes. "You being nervous is making him nervous. It'll only get worse when you mount…"

"Okay," Jasper cuts in, taking my hand. "Thank you, Andrea, for the words of encouragement."

She shrugs and continues to ready the horse for his saddle, smacking her chewing gum. I wonder how the horse feels about _that_ infernal noise?

Jasper takes my shoulders, trying to turn me to face him, but I'm not taking my eyes off that monster. The horse's flanks shudder, and I wonder briefly if he's warming up his muscles to get ready to throw me off. "Why is he twitching like that?" I whine to Jasper.

"Flies," Jasper replies, trying not to smirk. "He's knocking the flies off."

"Oh. I guess that's okay," I allow grudgingly.

"Beautiful," Jasper soothes, "Everything is going to be fine. I've ridden hundreds of times – when I was in high school I used to come out here a few times a week to ride with Debbie. And I'm fine."

"You never got thrown off?" I ask critically.

He hesitates. "Well…I actually did get thrown once or twice when the horse stumbled. I flew through the air, I fell, I rolled. I was fine, aside from having the breath knocked out of me for a few minutes."

"What? Oh my god!" I panic, and Wish startles, his hooves clattering on the concrete barn floor.

"Take him outside," Andrea says to Jasper through gritted teeth, "before he gets us all killed."

Outside, Jasper takes my hands in his and bids me to look at him as he speaks. "Edward, Wish is a lovely horse. I rode him ten years ago when he was 9 and he was beautiful then. He's a Morgan and Quarter Horse..."

"I don't know what that means," I mumble.

"It means he's got intelligence, he's got a sweet personality, a good smooth gait so you won't bounce all over the place, and he likes people. He's also strong, and big enough to carry someone of your height. And despite your mumblings about him being a monster – yes, I heard you – he's 16 hands. You're tall, beautiful; you can't ride a Shetland pony. 16 hands is a good, medium-sized horse," he finishes.

"He looks jumpy to me," I maintain, unconvinced.

"It's the first time he's met you, and you're nervous, jumping around and raising your voice in _his_ barn. You're _making_ him jumpy. I promise you, he's the steadiest trail horse I've ever ridden; once we get out there, you'll both be fine. Now, you sit here and chill out. I'm going to go in and tack up Zoe; I'll be back in a bit."

I sit outside the barn in the shade of a large cottonwood tree. It's late May, and we're in Austin for an extended version of the Memorial Day weekend; combining a celebration of Mother's Day, Harry's birthday and Father's Day. I admit grudgingly to myself that it is a beautiful day; it's sunny and warm, but it's not likely to become unbearably hot. Locusts sing in the tall grass of the paddock nearby; and if I could forget about what I'm about to do, I could almost enjoy the peacefulness of the pastoral setting.

Too soon, Jasper and Andrea come out of the barn, each leading one of the horses. Jasper's horse, Zoe, is a large black creature with white on her chest and around the bottoms of her front legs. Both horses have one of those large saddles, the kind with the tooling on the leather and a large, dangerous looking handle on the front. Jasper also has some leather pouches attached to his saddle.

"Okay, let's get you up," says Andrea innocuously.

"Not with you here," I retort, but the innuendo is lost on her.

"Fine," she huffs. "I have work to do anyways. Good luck, Jasper," she says, thrusting the reins into his hand, and stalks away.

"Now… _you_ can get me up," I smirk at him, raising my eyebrows suggestively.

To which he rolls his eyes. Not quite the reaction I was hoping for. "Uh-uh," he says. "You're not going to distract me from this. Come on," he beckons, leading both horses to a fence, where a couple of longish straps hang – they look like nylon dog leashes. He clips one to Zoe's bridle, tethering her there; then leads Wish alongside a large block.

"Now," he instructs, "you step up on the block and face the horse." I obey, and he continues, "Put your right hand on the back of the saddle, and your left hand on the horn."

"Also known as the stone crusher," I grumble.

"Oh, just do it," he dismisses. "Just be glad Wish doesn't bloat." I don't even ask what _that_ means. He continues to instruct me until I am actually seated on the horse. He measures the straps of the stirrups, adjusting the length till he's satisfied, then hands me the reins. He clips another long leash onto Wish's bridle, holding the long length of nylon in his hands.

"Okay," he says. "We're riding Western style. No surprise there – this _is_ Texas. This horse neck reins; that means you should hold both reins in one hand. When you want to guide him to the right, move the reins over to the right – don't pull, just make it so the rein lies against the left side of his neck. He'll move away from it. Do the opposite if you want to go left." He holds my hand, showing me how far to go to each side.

"Remember to breathe," he continues. "If you're nervous, you might hold your breath, and that'll make Wish nervous." Yeah, like I need a reminder. "You want to have good posture in you back, but you don't want to be stiff. Your heels should be lower than your toes, but not too low.

"I'm going to lead you around the ring a few times, and then you're going to do it yourself. Take a deep breath and relax."

He makes a chirping sound and the horse lurches slightly beneath me. He leads us into the ring and we begin a slow, counterclockwise circle around the perimeter. He continues to talk, reminding me to breathe and to concentrate on the muscles in my body, asking me what they're doing. "Think about your back," he says. "Think about whether you're sitting upright, and think about whether you're clenching the muscles. Let the lower half of your body roll slightly with the movement of the horse as he walks. Feel the saddle through your seat. See if you can feel the horse's mouth through the reins – it's difficult for a beginner, especially when you're neck reining. A rider is in constant communication with the horse, with your hands and legs, and with your voice. If you talk, his ears are going to come back to listen to you. Keep your voice low, and try it out."

"Wish," I say, feeling a little foolish. "Wish, you're going to be a good boy," I tell him in a low, singsong voice. "You're not going to kill me today, Wish." As Jasper said, his ears do swivel back towards me.

"Excellent," Jasper says. We have now made a full circuit of the ring and are on our second pass. Zoe, tethered outside in the paddock, watches the show with…amusement?

When we have completed a second circuit, Jasper stops us. "Good," he says. "In a moment I'm going to step back; I'm going to keep holding on to the lead, and you're going to ride in a circle around me. Wish is still going to listen to me because I have the lead, but he's going to listen to you as well." He steps back and continues to instruct. "I want you to squeeze your calves _gently_ against his sides and see what happens."

I do as asked, and Wish does nothing.

"He's not taking you seriously yet," Jasper smirks. "He knows you're new. This time, squeeze your calves, and make a quick pelvic thrust forward in the saddle, so he knows you want him to go." I obey, and Wish starts forward, circling Jasper like a pencil drawing a path around the point of a geometry compass. "Good. He may try to take advantage of the fact that you're new, and try to get out of working. If he tries to stop, make sure you have some slack in the reins, then give that little thrust again. He'll eventually figure out that you're serious."

"Am I going to have to do that the whole trip?" I ask.

"No," he grins. "Just circling the ring is boring for him. Once we get out on the trail, he'll be more enthusiastic about working." For several moments, we continue circling him in slow motion, restarting Wish several times.

"Now I'm going to unclip the lead line, and you'll be guiding Wish on your own," he says.

"All right," I answer, and realize that since the beginning of my second trip around the ring, I have been too focused on Wish and on my own posture, to be very nervous. I'm surprised…more than surprised – shocked – at how relaxed I feel. Allowing my lower body to feel the roll of Wish's hindquarters as he walks, thinking about my posture and paying attention to what he's doing has me quite absorbed. I actually feel pretty comfortable, and the thought of riding by myself doesn't terrify me…mostly.

"Great," he says quietly as he unclips the lead from the bridle, then backs away. "Okay, beautiful," he says. "You know what to do."

And I do it. Wish responds to me and I only have to recall his attention once. Jasper stands in the same spot, watching with a smile on his face as we circle him. He encourages me to make the circle a bit wider; then to guide Wish so that we're walking in the path that is worn around the perimeter of the ring. After I circle a few times, he tells me he's going to go get Zoe and join me. A moment later, we're both circling the ring. We continue doing that for fifteen minutes, Jasper occasionally calling out pointers to me.

"Great job!" he eventually says. "Ready to hit the trail?"

"Not hardly," I reply. "But let's go."

He brings Zoe to sidle up beside me and leans over to give me a kiss. "You sure do look sexy up there, cowboy."

I grin. "You do too," I admit.

"Thanks," he smiles, that broad smile that makes my heart quicken.

With him in the lead, we head out of the ring and across the paddock. Andrea opens the paddock gate and we are out into a large, open field. The horses still in the paddock call after us – nickering, Jasper calls it. The horses head across the field, side by side.

As we ride, we talk. It's not often that we get actual alone time when we're visiting Austin, between spending time with Anneliese and Harry and visiting one or two of Kas' friends who want to see us when we're in town. Em and Rosie weren't able to make the trip this weekend, though; so that gives us a bit more time for just us. We've agreed not to talk about wedding plans this weekend. Getting Anneliese onboard with that wasn't easy, but she understood when we told her we just wanted to have a relaxing weekend with them. Last night we went out for dinner at Trio and had a really nice time. The whole Whitlock family have become as dear to me now as my own family – soon, they will _be_ my family.

Around us, the fields stretch out, with rolling hills and tall grasses waving gently in the breeze. Trees dissect the property into individual fields, and soon we are out of view of the house. The owners, Don and Marie, are out of town for the weekend. Andrea is Marie's niece, living with them for the summer and working as their stablehand. Jasper's school friend Debbie is their daughter; she no longer lives here but when Jasper called to ask if we could have the use of the horses and the fields for an afternoon, she enthusiastically gave her permission. An hour or two ago, I was cussing her out for it – in my head, of course. Now, I'm enjoying this tremendously. After my initial jitters – er, panic – subside, I find it very peaceful, out here in the open fields. Just me, Jasper and the horses.

After an hour or so, we come across a good-sized pond. "We're almost at the back of their property now," Jasper says. "What do you say to stopping here?"

"Yeah," I agree. I'm hot and sweaty, and the dust is sticking to the sweat. We both dismount, and Jasper pulls a blanket and a small thermal lunch bag out of his saddle bag; then removes the saddles from the horses, laying them on the ground, upside down on the saddle blankets. I stretch my muscles, wincing as I flex my glutes and thigh muscles.

"How's your ass feel?" Jasper grins, catching my grimace.

"Sore," I reply.

"Mine too," he winces.

"What? Mr. I've-Ridden-Hundreds-of-Times is sore?" I tease.

"Well, yeah," he grins. "I haven't been on a horse since I finished college. The muscles get out of the habit."

I drag my arm across my forehead, wiping the dust-caked sweat from my face. "Come on, beautiful," Jasper says. "Let's strip off and go for a swim."

"Yes," I agree enthusiastically, my shirt already halfway off my back before he finishes his sentence.

"Wow, I didn't even have to convince you," he smirks at me.

"Nope. It's hot." Jasper tethers the horses in the shade of a tree, where they can both graze, and reach the water if they're thirsty. Then he joins me in stripping down to the skin. I'm about to wade in when he suggests we jump off the dock.

"Debbie and I used to swim here all the time," he says. "It's about ten feet deep off the end of the dock – fine to jump. Don't dive, though."

"I assume you and Debbie brought swimsuits," I tease, giving his bare bottom a light smack.

"Well...usually," he smirks back.

In seconds, he and I are both plunging feet first into the water. The temperature isn't too cold to be enjoyable – just nice. I immediately feel better. I've never gone skinny-dipping before. It's so freeing, until…

"Wait," I say to Jasper. "There aren't any fish in this pond, are there?"

"No," he replies. "Why?"

"Fish…nibble on things," I tell him. He throws his head back and laughs loudly; then he gets a wicked look on his face. He disappears under the water, and I wonder what he's up to, until I feel his hands on my ass under the water. A second later, my cock has gone from the cool water into his warm mouth. I lean my head back into the water and moan. It's all too brief, of course, as Jasper needs to surface for air.

"What's what you were saying about nibbling?" he murmurs as he wraps himself around me.

"Mmm," I answer. "Guess this is pond is stocked with _angel_ fish." He groans at the terrible pun, then makes a fish face at me, and I dunk him under the water. For half an hour or so, we play, splashing, yelling and laughing; just enjoying the complete privacy we have here. I tell Kas to grab the one of the rungs of the dock's ladder and float on his back. When he does, I slide my hands under his ass to keep him from sinking, and I go down on him, right there in the pond. He twists and bucks, floating nearly weightless as I suck him off; and when he comes, his moans are absorbed into the greater presence of sounds around us – the trees, the locusts, the birds, the breeze through the tall grass. When I release him and he stands up, he's so fucking beautiful with his curls dripping water onto his bare shoulders – like a mythical god of the deep. He looks so at home in the water, I seriously consider a new nickname for him. Poseidon seems about right.

He kisses me deeply, and with his broad smile, asks how he can reciprocate. I take his hand and lead him out of the water, back to where the blanket is folded under the tree. We spread the blanket and stretch out under the tree, still naked. I lie on my back, looking up into the leaves of the great oak tree above me; Jasper lies on his side, stroking and kissing my neck and shoulders. He works his way down my chest, spending long agonizing moments on my nipples, alternating his mouth and fingers on each. I've never been with anyone would could push every one of my erotic buttons, the way Jasper does.

By the time he reaches my abs, my cock is painful, dripping pre-cum – it pulses so strongly that it feels like a soundless beacon, beckoning Jasper southward. Still my angel takes his time, gradually getting closer to my hipbones, where he traces my "sex vee", as he calls it – the valley between my abdominal muscles and my hip – with his tongue. This is slow, sweet and tantalizing – we're not in a rush, we're not tired out after a long day of work, and we don't have to be quiet. Kas seems determined that he's going to use that to his full advantage – or rather, to our mutual advantage.

Eventually his mouth has travelled low enough that he could pay attention to my cock, but fuck me if he doesn't slide right on past it, lying on his stomach between my legs so he can take my sac into his mouth. With his very talented tongue, he rolls each ball around his mouth, and once in a while he presses his chin into my perineum, gently stimulating my prostate. Every time he does I just about jump off the blanket, it feels so fucking amazing. I've told him before that he could charge a lot of money for the blowjobs he gives – he is so good at it. Fuck, he's good at everything.

Finally, after teasing me for half an hour – and swatting my hands away when I try to stroke my cock – he slides his tongue up the underside of my shaft. I shudder when he reaches the tip, my hands clutching the blanket. He licks the pre-cum from the head, humming his approval. My ass muscles clench, trying to lift me closer to his mouth, but he won't be hurried. He is the king of the slow burn, and I am completely at his mercy. His tongue traces around the outside of the head, then slides up and down the underside of the head a couple of times.

"Oh god, Kas, please," I beg. "Fuck, angel, I want you to suck me." He doesn't reply, but takes the head of my cock into his mouth, very carefully nibbling on the sensitive skin beneath the head and bathing it with his tongue. He releases me for a moment to lick his lips, and then takes me in his mouth again, sliding his smooth lips halfway down my length. After sliding back up and moistening his lips again, he takes my full length; I cry out at finally, _finally_ feeling the touch I've been longing for. Still he takes his time, slowly and steadily sliding his mouth up and down my length; his lips touch my pubic hair each time he takes me down his throat.

His touch is still light and teasing, nowhere near what I want, what I _need_ to bring me to my climax. Gradually he increases the pressure, just a little bit at a time, and my whole body trembles. He adds his hand to the base of my cock, squeezing and releasing as his head bobs up and down. I am _this close_ , and he fucking knows it. I just need a tiny bit more pressure…

He releases me from his mouth and hoarsely asks, "You ready to come, beautiful?" My reply is a wail, and he continues, "Then come for me." His mouth engulfs my cock and sucks hard, his hand pumping my shaft, and I fucking explode. It feels like every nerve in my body ruptures as my orgasm rips through me. I have no control over the sounds that come from me – as though an unseen force is speaking through me. Kas sucks every drop from me, leaving me gasping and weak, like he's swallowing my strength along with my jizz.

When I have ceased to tremble and spasm, he releases me. My whole body seems to collapse, no longer held in his electric grasp. He slides up beside me and lays his head on my outstretched arm, snuggling into me.

"Oh my god," is my breathless comment, and I can feel his cheeks lift into a smile as his face is pressed against me.

"Not quite a god; but perhaps a demi-god?" he quips. I am too wiped out tell him how ironic his comment is, considering my earlier thoughts on Poseidon. Between my earlier nerves, the riding, the swimming and the earth-shattering blowjob, I am fucking exhausted. I pull him tighter, kissing his forehead, and almost before my lips leave his skin, I am drifting off to sleep.

-o-

The sun has changed position considerably by the time I awake. Jasper is still beside me, stretched out on his stomach. I love the way he sleeps, with his hands tucked in under his shoulders – it's very childlike and innocent. His curls are wild, tousled from swimming and then drying in the breeze. I am starving now, and I reach for the small knapsack Jasper packed.

Inside is a soft thermal cooler bag, the kind that holds six cans of soda. In it is cheese and fruit, and two bottles of water that were obviously frozen when they went into the cooler, keeping the contents cold as they thawed enough to drink. I crack open one of them and down half of it before looking through the rest of the knapsack. I pull out an unopened box of Triscuits, and below them, a small zippered bag. I smirk broadly, knowing what the zippered bag contains. This is our condoms-and-lube travel kit. Jasper knew what he was up to when he packed this bag; guess I know now why he insisted on coming out here in the first place. _Dangerous and subversive,_ I remind myself, mentally appending _sneaky_ to the list. Wonder how long he's been planning this.

Well, it seems a shame to let all this advance planning go to waste. Trying to be quiet, I open up the Triscuits and snack on some cheese and crackers to take the edge off my hunger. When I'm no longer famished, I pack them back in the bag. Then I move to where Jasper's bare feet lie, soles up, on the edge of the blanket. Starting at his Achilles tendon, I begin kissing and licking up the backs of his legs, moving slowly and gently. For several moments there is no response; but soon, out of the corner of my eye, I see his toes curl slightly. _A-ha,_ I think to myself, _now I've got your attention._

He moves slightly, twisting his body one way and then the other as he stretches out the kinks from sleeping. My lips have reached the backs of his thighs, and he shivers when my tongue dips down to caress the soft skin of his inner thigh, first one side and then the other. "Mmm," he hums his enjoyment of this attention, prompting me to travel lower to tease the back of his scrotum. "Fuck," he sighs, "that's nice."

 _Nice?_ That's almost an insult, though I know he doesn't mean it that way. Nevertheless, I decide I must not be bringing my A-game. I push his legs apart, spreading them fairly wide, and move to lie on my stomach between them. From here, I can lick, suck, nibble and otherwise worship his balls and his cock, the head of which faces me as it points downward towards his feet. I have to lower my chin till it's resting on the blanket, but I'm able to slip the head into my mouth and suck on it. He wriggles, the muscles in his legs and ass clenching and releasing; arching his back, he pushes toward me, attempting greater penetration. I let go of it altogether, ignoring his groan of protest, and move to his balls. After the teasing he did earlier, I do believe turnabout is fair play.

From here, I have easy access to his ass, and I grab the lube, which I have already opened, sitting beside me. I dribble some on my finger, and gently massage his opening, still sucking and nibbling his scrotum. He opens so easily for me, always ready. One of the things I love about Jasper is that he can, in the presence of others, seem reserved when he wants to – even cold at times, when he has put on his Jazz face. Only I know the ardor, the consuming fire within him; only I know how passionately he responds to my advances, how voraciously he pursues me. For the rest of our lives, only I will know the delight and the privilege of having his delicious body open up to accept me within him, to bring him pleasure and draw my own from him.

Of course, the best part of all of this is that I feel exactly the same way about him – as much sex as I had before I met him, it was nothing like the sex life I now share with my angel. I feel insatiable, hungry for him all the time. The nature of this sex is so different too – we spend as much time kissing and just fucking making out as we do actually making love. My heart is as involved in the act as my cock is; even my body heat now seems to radiate from my heart, rather than from my crotch.

It's immeasurably different, the distinction between buying a CD versus attending the symphony in person.

Jasper is now groaning beneath me with two of my fingers in him; his low vocalizations urge me deeper. "Ungh, beautiful," he moans, "that feels so fucking good." In response, I ease my fingers back out of him, and he growls.

"Patience," I murmur, reaching for a condom. When he hears the package rip, he calms, knowing my intention, and waiting patiently. After I have put it on and lubed it up, I drizzle a touch more lube on him. He flinches, the lube slightly cooler than his warm body. I grasp his hips and pull up. "On your knees," I quietly instruct, and he complies immediately, supporting his upper body with his hands. I massage his beautiful ass, giving him a few little slaps to watch the taut muscles jar in reaction. In low tones, he begs me to take him, his desire reaching the breaking point. I can no longer deny him. Giving him what he needs, I enter him and keep pressing forward; he begins a long, low moan, building to a loud, guttural groan as I fill him completely.

"Oh, my god," he gasps. "Stop…don't move…fuck…I almost came just from that…" Having plans for him after I drill his ass, I definitely don't want him to come yet; I still completely. He pants, struggling to retain control; I trace soft lines on his lower back and hips while I wait. After several moments, he relaxes, his chest sinking lower to the ground and his head dropping.

"Okay?" I ask.

He laughs. "You're much, much better than okay. Please – proceed."

I grasp his hips and push him forward slightly, then pull him back towards me, so that he is the one moving, controlling the speed and depth of our congress. Releasing my hold on him, I remain still, and he continues to rock forward and back. Each time he rocks back against me, he bumps me gently. The effect is that when I clench my ass and thighs to hold myself from upright, it causes my pelvis to tip forwards, giving him that extra little bit of deep penetration. He grunts every time my groin makes contact with his ass. Eventually he increases his speed and thrust so that our skin slaps as our bodies meet.

The obscene sounds combine with the serenity and the openness of the outdoors to make this a very primal experience, and suddenly I'm the one who needs a minute. I lean over his back, wrapping my arms around his waist and holding him tightly to still him. "Wait," I pant. "Too close. I love your ass, baby. Fuck…I need a minute." Again, he drops his chest, the motion flexing his spine away from me. "Put you arms down, rest your head on them," I tell him, and he falls immediately. One of my hands moves to gently pinch and twist his nipples; the other goes to his cock. "Tell me if you're getting close, angel," I warn him. "I don't want you to come yet."

He nods, and his quiet moans continue as I gently draw him closer to the edge. Soft "ohs" escape his lips, those gorgeous lips that always wrap themselves around my cock so willingly. I watch him carefully to make sure he's not ignoring my request not to come, knowing how easy it is to become carried away when you're that worked up. Just as I'm about to say something, he speaks up.

"Ungh," he says. "Wait…I'm close…" I release his cock and his nipple, and straighten up again. I carefully pull out of him, leaving him open and stark.

He whimpers, "Fuck, why are you torturing me?"

I grab the other condom packet, pressing it into his palm. He opens his eyes to peer at what I've placed there; then he rises onto one elbow to look back at me. "What's this…do you want me to…?" I nod and watch as that beautiful smile spreads across his face. "Oh fuck, beautiful; you don't have to ask me twice." I remove the condom I'm wearing as he opens up the packet in his hand, standing up to put on the rubber. I look at him expectantly, waiting for him to tell me how he'd like me.

"I think you should stand up," he says, one eyebrow raised as he speculatively looks at me. I do, and wait for him to continue. "I think you would look fucking hot as a tree hugger, beautiful," he presses on. I tilt my head to the side, confused by his words. He shows me by turning me to face the trunk of the oak tree we've been lying under. He positions my legs so that they're spread a bit wider than my shoulder width apart, then bends me forward at the waist, drawing my arms around the trunk. Finally I understand what he means.

I hear the cap of the lube bottle, and soon his slick fingers are rubbing the area around my anus; dipping into my opening, working inside me, coating me with the lube. When he turns his hand palm down, his fingers can reach my prostate enough to stimulate it gently. He takes the time now to do this, almost sending me into orbit before he even has his cock in me.

"Okay, beautiful," he says softly. "It's time for me to put my cock in your ass, stretch it and fill you up. Do you want that?"

"Yes," I moan, my desperation clearly audible.

"You know," he says, taking hold of my ass cheeks and spreading them apart, "you were awfully stingy, not letting me come."

"I wanted you in my ass," I barely manage to reply.

" _You_ wanted," he repeats. "Well, now it's time for what I want. And I want you to hold on tight," he whispers hoarsely.

For the briefest moment, I'm afraid. Jasper has never hurt me – would never hurt me. And yet, the first sexual experiences I had with other men were akin to rape, and Jasper's sudden aggressive demeanor has made me unreasonably anxious. Fortunately, my angel senses my anxiety immediately, dropping the act to gently stroke my shoulder blades. He whispers, "Hey, beautiful – are you all right?"

Instantly my fears are allayed – of course it's okay. This is _Jasper_ , the man I trust more deeply than anyone else in my lifetime. He would quite literally choose death before intentionally hurting me or making me feel coerced; I would absolutely do the same if our situations were reversed. This is love and trust.

Of course it's okay.

I turn my head to look over my shoulder at him; his eyes are watching me intently, waiting for my words to determine what happens next. "Yes," I whisper. "I love you."

He relaxes and smiles. "I love you too." I turn my head back so that my shoulder, neck and cheek press against the rough oak bark – grateful we didn't choose a cottonwood tree, the trunk of which would have been much more rough – and I hold on, as instructed. His hard cock penetrates me, and as with every single time he enters me, the exquisite pleasure engulfs me immediately. When he's most of the way in, he takes my shoulders and slowly pulls himself towards me, sinking balls-deep and continuing to press on till he can't push any harder against me. I moan at the sensation of being so completely filled, stretched to my limit beneath him. Our bodies fit each other perfectly, the cast to the mould.

"Christ…fuck! You're tight," he pants, and I can only continue to moan in response. He withdraws and thrust again, hard. Our groans fill the air as he drills me over and over. I know I'll have scratches on my face, and pressure marks, if not full bruising, on my shoulder. I don't care. It's been a few weeks since he topped me, and I need him – I need this, so much. I crave having him inside me; I have to writhe beneath him as he takes me. For a long time, I didn't allow myself to need anyone. I was ignorant, thinking it would be a weakness if my body ached for one person's touch. Jasper taught me; he showed me what I was missing. He showed me what I didn't know about myself.

Now his expressions are growing in urgency; the strain in his voice is evident. It mirrors what my body is feeling, trying to hold back and make this last as long as possible. Doing this outside, feeling like we're almost in the middle of nowhere; surrounded by trees and fields and open sky and wild creatures…it's all so basic, the oldest of urges. I can't hold back any longer. I tense, holding as tightly as possible to the trunk of the tree, and a raw keening sound escapes me. My release spills onto the ground and the base of the tree. My whole body spasms as I ride the top of this orgasm like a fucking bronco at a rodeo.

Behind me, Jasper groans, "Oh my god…I'm coming." I urge him on, begging him to ride me hard. He grabs my hips, changing his angle so that his thrusts are as much upward as they are forward, and with each thrust, he lifts my feet off the ground slightly, shouting into the open air as he comes. Being taken so completely, hearing him go to pieces behind me, extends my pleasure. We push against each other, again and again, until we're both ravaged, soaked with sweat and completely spent.

Jasper takes a moment to catch his breath; then after pulling out of me, he comes around beside my head and gently unlocks my hands from the tree. He helps me stand upright, and pulls me close to him, pressing my head to lie on his shoulder. "Thank you, thank you," he whispers. "You're amazing, Edward; so beautiful, so feral."

I have tears, overwhelmed by our coupling and the tenderness Jasper now shows me, after having fucked me so powerfully. "Come lie down," he whispers, leading me back to the blanket and indicating that I should lie on my stomach. After disposing of the condom, he straddles my thighs and starts to knead my back, working out the strain from me being bent over for so long. After my back, he moves up to the shoulder that bore the brunt of the impact with the tree, gently stroking it, massaging my arms, and kissing my face and neck where the tree bark scratched them.

When he's finished, I feel better, rejuvenated and relaxed. He lies beside me, one leg thrown over my back. "I love you, Edward," he murmurs to me. "I love our life together, and I love it when you give your gift to me. I love it when we make love slow and sweet; and I love it when we fuck hard and frantic. I love that in five months, we're going to walk down the aisle and get married."

I roll onto my side so I can be enfolded into his strong arms. "Yes," is all I can reply – complete agreement with everything it all. There are so many facets of the life we share that combine to create what I can only describe as a charmed life. Sometimes I wonder if I will wake up and realize this has all been a dream, and that I'm still the stunted, closed-off Edward I used to be, living a half-life with no warmth and little passion. The thought makes me shudder.

"You're not cold, are you, beautiful?" Jasper asks, misinterpreting my body's signals.

"No," I reply. "Just reminding myself again how glad I am that you came to find me; that you persisted even when I seemed like a lost cause."

"You were never a lost cause," he contradicts. "Not for me. Even though I resisted when you came back…I was scared. But I could never have turned you away, not for good. You and I are meant for each other, Edward." He points to a pair of cottonwood trees a short distance away. "Look at those two trees. They're so close at the base that they've grown up together, from the time that they were seedlings until now, when they're huge, strong trees. The trunks have grown around each other; the branches are intertwined. I'd bet that they even share a root system. You couldn't remove one without killing the other, because it would no longer have its other half to balance it." He takes my chin and turns my face to his. "That's you and me, Edward. We are part of each other. Our trunks might have grown separately for a while, but now we're laced together – all the way to the roots. There's no undoing that now."

I can't answer; I can only pull his face to mine and kiss him deeply. I'm unspeakably moved and grateful for his words and his love.

We lie close together, our limbs wrapped around each other. After a while, his stomach grumbles and he chuckles. "If I could ignore the basic necessities of life, beautiful, I would stay here with you all day. Unfortunately…"

"I know," I grin, disentangling myself from him. We take another quick dip in the pond, just to wash off the sweat and the lube, and then we dress. I pack up the blanket and the knapsack. The horses have waited patiently throughout our activities, and they look glad when Jasper saddles them up again. He gives me a leg up onto Wish, checking with me about whether I'm still okay – "Not nervous, are you?" – to which I roll my eyes and cluck at Wish. Grinning, Jasper swings up onto Zoe and joins me. The horses, knowing they're on their way home to dinner and their stalls, perk up their ears and pick up their steps. They know the way home; for Jasper and me, the ride is relaxing and easy.

As we ride, Jasper checks his watch. "Jesus, no wonder I'm starving. It's seven o'clock!" I can't believe how the time has passed today. Fortunately, now that it's later, the sun isn't nearly as hot; and there's a very pleasant breeze.

Back at the barn, Jasper gets rid of Wish's saddle and bridle and slips a halter on him, putting him in crossties. He shows me how to brush him, and as I do, he untacks Zoe and brushes her down as well. When the horses are in their stalls, fed and "tucked in" for the night, we stroll hand-in-hand to the house to let Andrea know we're back and that the horses are looked after. She's inside the large, open-concept home, watching a movie with a girlfriend. They both look up as we knock on the kitchen door, and Andrea motions us in.

"I was starting to wonder if you two were coming back," she says as she pauses the movie and gets up to join us in the kitchen. "The property just isn't that big."

"Oh," Jasper replies, "we stopped and had a swim in the pond."

"Uh…okay," she replies with a smirk. "How did you do, Edward? Didn't get thrown? "

"No," I glare. "I was fine. I even enjoyed it."

"He did really well," Jasper adds, sliding his arm around my waist and smiling at me proudly. "He actually settled into it pretty quickly, and Wish was great, of course." He gives me a kiss on the cheek. "I may even get him back in the saddle again."

"You can count on it." I wink at him slyly when Andrea turns to the sink to fill her water glass. I know we're not talking about horseback riding anymore.

"Well, that's a miracle," replies Andrea, still completely unaware of the innuendo in our words. "I didn't think he'd get up at all, let alone want to go again."

"I'll always get up," I answer her, as Jasper tries to stifle his laughter. She turns to look at us curiously. "What I mean is, I'll try anything once."

"Well," Jasper switches topics, a bit pointedly, "we'd best be headed back to town. We're starving." He puts out his hand to Andrea. "It was nice to meet you, Andrea."

"Same here," she shakes his hand, then mine. "Have a safe drive back." We turn to leave and just as I'm thinking she must be the most naïve twenty-year-old on the planet, she says, "Jesus, I hope watching you two going at it didn't traumatize the horses."

I gape, chagrined; Jasper just grabs my hand and pulls me out of there. From behind us we hear peals of laughter from Andrea and her friend, and I swear to myself that as long as Andrea works here, I will never ride here again. I would be mortified to have to look her in the eye. Beside me, Jasper chuckles and hooks his arm around my waist. "Let them laugh," he says. "Fuck, every second you and I spent back there was worth having to put up with her snark."

There's no way to argue with that. "Yeah," I concede. We get into Anneliese's SUV, buckling up before Jasper turns us in the direction of Austin. As we drive the country roads, things in the car are quiet. I rest my head, looking out the window at the expanse of fields and trees, and the large, gorgeous homes in the area.

Once we're back on the highway, I turn to Jasper. "I'm sorry, Kas."

"For what, beautiful?" he asks, taking my hand.

"For fighting you so hard on coming out here. You said I'd enjoy it if I gave it a chance, and I should have trusted you." I squeeze his hand. "I'm glad you insisted."

"I'm glad too," he says, lifting my hand to his lips to kiss the back of it and taking his eyes off the road for a second to give me a quick smile. "It was amazing. _You_ were amazing. I love you."

"I love you, too," I reply. I lie my head back against the headrest again, studying his profile. For the moment, the road we are travelling has curved to the north, and his beautiful lips are silhouetted in the sun as it sinks lower on the horizon.

"Where do you want to stop for dinner?" he asks.

"I don't have a preference," I reply lazily. "Anywhere is fine." He nods. "You know," I muse aloud after a few minutes, "the only other time we've done anything like that outside was when we were here for Thanksgiving.

"Oh, yeah," he grins, remembering when we snuck out to the back yard of his parents' house after dark, the night of Thanksgiving dinner. "Of course, that was just trading blow jobs. Today was…"

"Primal," I supply, and he nods.

"Definitely. Making love outside, surrounded by nature…it was so powerful." He kisses my hand again. "I have a confession to make, actually. I've wanted to do that, here, since I used to come here as a teenager. I always thought it would be so great to make love outside."

" _That's_ why you wanted to get me out here?" I raise my eyebrows at him, and he nods sheepishly. "Jesus, if that was the case, why didn't you just say so?"

He shrugs. "Well, I also wanted you to ride. I knew you'd look sexy up there."

"Ah." I decide to have a little fun with this. "All part of the fantasy, then, huh? And what about throwing me up against a tree and drilling me?"

He grins, saying nothing, which tells me everything. "Jesus," I tell him, "you are much more devious than I gave you credit for. I mean, obviously, you planned, since you had the condoms and lube…"

"Yes, but that was just being prepared," he speaks up, "which I've learned, with you, is important to do. I never know where or when you and I will be carried away."

"Fair enough," I concede. "Well, I'll say this – I would really like to do that more – making love outside, I mean. It seems almost impossible when you live in the city."

"Hmm," he murmurs, and then his face takes on a devious smile. "How do you feel about hiking in the Olympic Mountains...?"

-o-


	34. Outtake 2 - Holiday Vignettes

_**Christmas 2010** _

_Edward_

"Have I told you how glad I am that we do this?" he murmurs contentedly.

"Do what, angel?" I ask. His comment is non-sequitur, following at least twenty minutes of silence. He could mean any number of things.

"Reserve Christmas Eve just for us," he replies. "No plans with anyone else. Just you and me, snuggled together, enjoying the quiet..."

"Yeah," I agree wholeheartedly, stroking his wheaten curls and placing a kiss on his head where it rests against my chest. We lie together, stretched out along the length of the leather sofa, listening to soft Christmas carols spill from the speakers of the iPod dock. The white lights on our Christmas tree provide the only illumination in the room, sparkling off the silver and dark blue decorations. At the foot of the tree are beautifully-wrapped parcels, a few for each other and the rest for our loved ones who will join us here tomorrow.

Though we were already engaged by last Christmas, this is our first year as a married couple. Sometime in the last month we got the crazy idea to host Christmas Day here. My in-laws have travelled to Washington for Christmas, since all of us from Seattle were just in Texas for the wedding two months ago. They're staying with Esme and Carlisle. Rosie and Em and the boys have taken a family suite at a hotel near my apartment. I'm tremendously grateful that they all made the trip so far, allowing Jasper and me to be in our own home on our first Christmas. When the whole group descends upon our apartment tomorrow in the late morning, I'm sure it'll be a bit of a mad scene here.

Tonight, though, is all ours, and it's our conscious decision not to accept invitations elsewhere for the night of December 24th. This night is our time to take a breath and relax together before the storm of activity on Christmas Day.

Jasper's hand slides up to rest on my thigh. The light from the tree catches the diamonds in his engagement ring. As I have done so many times in the last two months, I smile with contentment at seeing those two rings side-by-side. His wedding and engagement rings. My world feels complete with Jasper as my husband.

Which is why I reply, "I _am_ glad, angel. There's nowhere else I want to be tonight; no one else I want to be with."

He twists slightly, turning his head so he can kiss me. "You're mine forever," he murmurs.

I return his kiss tenderly, and he stretches further toward me till he finally turns over to lie with his chest against mine. I hold his face between my hands, my tongue probing deep in his inviting mouth. His arms encircle my waist and he presses his hips into me, breathing a sigh full of yearning. Hearing the sound of his arousal lights a fire in me; tenderness gives way to need. Like an addict chasing his next fix, the urgency escalates with each second. Knowing it's _this close,_ need becomes desperation.

"God, Jasper," I groan. "I can never get enough of you, angel." He chooses that moment to push away from me, leaving me gasping. He rises to his knees on the couch and slowly unbuttons his shirt. I watch his long slender fingers slip each button through the hole; watch him slide it smoothly off his shoulders, baring his upper body. Though I reach out for him, he stops me, extending my acute torture. He unbuttons his soft worn jeans and lets them drop from his waist to where his knees are pressed into the couch, betraying that he is wearing nothing under them. He stands to kick off his jeans, and takes advantage of that moment to unzip my own jeans and tug them from me. As he tosses them on a chair I quickly slip my t-shirt off.

He turns back and his lower lip juts out slightly. "Naughty boy," he murmurs. "No fair unwrapping my gift." He shakes his head with a _tsk, tsk,_ under his breath. I lift my hips so he can slide off my briefs, but he pushes me back down, instead lying on his stomach on the generous leather couch, his head between my legs. Carefully he begins to suck and nibble on my painfully hard cock through my white low-rise briefs. I sink my hands deep into his hair, clutching handfuls of his voluminous waves and stroking his scalp. He takes more of me, dampening the fabric with his wet mouth, occasionally pulling away to cup my balls and slide his finger under the elastic of the legs, teasing the soft skin of my inner thigh. He uses his tongue there, too, driving me mad with anticipation.

When he finally relents and pulls my briefs off, my cock is weeping seminal fluid, desperate to feel skin and opening and inside. "Please," I implore. "Fuck – please suck me, Kas." Wordlessly he complies, rising to his knees and dropping his head back to my groin. He purses his moistened lips before pressing them to the head of my cock. They open to me just enough to make a tight passage through them into the waiting molten sanctuary of his mouth. He sucks hard, nearly overwhelming me at once with his touch on my hypersensitive cock, and I cry out wildly. Rather than releasing me, he brings one hand up to tug gently on my sac. When his other hand wraps around the base of my cock I'm done for. I come immediately, hard and embarrassingly fast in frantic spurts down his throat.

It happens so quickly that it relieves only the urgency, leaving me able to last much longer now. Jasper releases me, grinning as he takes in the thunderstruck expression on my face. He sits on the couch, opening the drawer under the coffee table to grab the bottle of lube we keep there. He turns it upside down, letting gravity carry little drizzles of the clear fluid onto his cock. I sit up to catch the drops, dragging my fingertips lightly over his rigid shaft. He puts his head back, closing his eyes while I massage until his cock glistens. I debate for a moment – facing him or facing away? I decide to start facing away, standing up and turning my back to him. He grasps his length in one hand, ready to penetrate me when I lower my body to him. His hard knob presses firmly against my opening. Pressure, but no pain as he breaches the tight knot. I press down and he fills me more fully until I hold all of him inside me.

"Fuck," he pants, "stop." I grind my ass against his groin a bit, teasing him, but he grabs my hips hard. Through gritted teeth he cautions, "Don't. Move."

While I wait for him to calm, I pick up the lube where it sits on the table, pouring a few drops into the palm of my hand. I tease the head of my cock with the slippery liquid, moaning softly as my fingertips ghost under the head and along the slit. I'm still as hard as a fucking poker, more so now that I'm sitting on Jasper's cock. One of his hands releases my hip and it comes around to meet my fingers, following them as they trace light paths over my length. "Fuuuuuuck," he moans lazily. "I love your cock."

"Can I move now?" I ask, becoming impatient to feel him move in me.

"It's just so good, doing it raw," he replies, his voice husky. Only two months have passed since we stopped using condoms, on our wedding night. It's still very new to us both, even more so to Jasper as he bottoms much more often. "Feels so good to be in you with nothing between us." He lifts gently on my hips and I take that as my cue. Slowly I rise and fall over him, letting my ass drop to feel his hands squeezing me each time I do. My hands hover around my cock, occasionally squeezing and caressing; and sometimes dropping down to where his balls are, below mine, so I can play with them as well.

When I sense he's starting that ascent to his orgasm I lift myself off him briefly, turn to face him and sink down onto him again. I never orgasm more intensely than I do in this position, the way his cock stimulates my prostate from the inside; the way he holds me close; how I can look directly into his eyes, watching every sensation portrayed so clearly on his exquisite features. Jasper is always vocal when we make love, but something about this position - whether it's the closeness or the intensity – causes him to become verbal as well. Maybe it's because my face is directly before his. Whatever the reason, he stares into my eyes, effusing chaste endearments among the most salacious desires. Hearing his voice tell me the impure things he wants to do to me is always my weakness; my arousal spikes and with it my temperature, sweat trickling down my chest as I struggle against my quickly approaching climax.

My undoing is when he moistens his thumb and forefinger in his mouth then grasps my nipple, rolling it around between them. "Hold me tight!" I bark and he immediately complies, his arms forming an iron vice around my waist and pulling me as close. I slam down hard, burying him deep inside me, and my body instantly goes to pieces, thrashing, shuddering, buffeted by waves of euphoria. Amid the crashing in my brain, I hear him cry my name. His body stiffens beneath me, his head tossing from side to side when he spills inside me. Our cries overlap until they fade away into heavy breaths. My head drops to his shoulder and I bury my face in his neck.

"I love you," he whispers into my hair. "I love you, I love you."

I lift my head and kiss his soft, wide mouth. "I love you too, angel," I whisper after I pull away. I lift myself gingerly off him and he stands beside me.

"Put your arm over my shoulders," he gently instructs, then sweeps his arm under my legs, picking me up and carrying me to our bed. "Back in a sec," he whispers. He disappears, and the lights go out on the Christmas tree in the living room. He moves quietly back through our room into the bathroom, and returns a moment later with a warm washcloth. My eyes are already beginning to close as he carefully cleans me. He vanishes again, and I hear the water running in the bathroom sink, where I assume he's doing the same thing for himself. Soon he's sliding into bed with me, gathering me into his arms in the dark. He lifts his head to look at the clock on the night table.

"Hey," he says softly, "it's after midnight. Merry Christmas, beautiful."

"Merry Christmas," I mumble sleepily, remembering to add my new favorite word, "husband."

 

 _**Christmas 2015** _

_Jasper_

"Oh my god," he gasps and staggers into the room. "She's finally asleep. I thought she'd never drop off."

"She's excited you're home," I remind him.

"Hmph," he sniffs. "I think she said Santa more than Daddy today."

I laugh as he collapses next to me on the bed. "Annie's only repeating what we've been saying to her. She's not even two - she has no idea what we're talking about." I've just finished the last-minute wrapping and I've stretched out here waiting for him to give the all-clear. "I hate to say it," I nudge him, "but we're not done. We still have to put all the presents out."

He groans and pulls a pillow over his head. "Can't Santa do that?" he complains, his voice muffled.

"Come on," I urge, giving him a playful shove before pulling the pillow off his head. "Let's get this done and then we can have our private celebration."

He sighs and reaches his hand out to me. "Fine, but I don't have the energy to stand up. You'll have to get me up."

"I've never failed yet." I grin and despite his exhaustion, he grins back at the double entendre.

We pull the gifts out of the locked downstairs closet and arrange the brightly wrapped parcels under the tree. I fill the stockings while Edward decks the tree with candy canes. We each have a cookie and share the milk Annie left for Santa. Then we stand back and survey the scene.

It's beautiful. Our tree, chosen by Annie this year, isn't perfect. Its trunk is a bit crooked and there's a bald spot on one side (which we've faced toward the wall). Rather than all the delicate glass ornaments we bought for our first tree, this one holds sturdy plastic bulbs, little paper chains and some childish ornaments Annie made at daycare. There's a memory ornament from our first Christmas and a little silver rattle engraved with the date of Annie's first one. There are strings of popcorn and cranberries that we'll hang in our backyard for the birds after the holidays are over. No, it's not a picture out of a home décor magazine – but I wouldn't change a thing.

Edward stands behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, burying his face in my neck. I shiver as his breath tickles me. "I love you," I whisper.

He squeezes tighter and says with a contented sigh, "Love you too, angel."

"Come on," I tell him, gently removing his hands from my waist. I keep hold of one of his hands and lead him up the wood staircase, along the hallway lined with photos of our extended family, and into our bedroom. "Meet you there, beautiful." I push him gently toward the bed and head into the ensuite.

I'm in there for no more than five minutes before re-emerging into our room. Edward is stretched out in bed. The wrapping paper and tape I used earlier are still on the duvet. I pick them up and tuck them away in the bench at the end of the bed. "Don't want Annie to see those in the morning," I remark. There's no reply from Edward and I climb into bed to snuggle up with him.

What I find is my beautiful sexy husband, already fast asleep. I can't help an indulgent smile as I gaze at him. He got in late last night from three days in New York City and was woken at seven this morning by Annie jumping on him in her excitement to have him home. He kept up with her all day long, but was already dragging by the time he put her to bed. I can't blame him at all for crashing. I'm only the tiniest bit disappointed that we'll forgo our Christmas Eve lovemaking. I don't for one second consider waking him, despite knowing he'll chide me for it tomorrow. He needs to sleep and I'm going to let him. Tomorrow will be a long, busy day with Carlisle and Esme, Alice and her boyfriend Ian all spoiling Annie. In the morning we'll get on Skype for a Christmas morning video chat with my family in San Diego; my parents are spending Christmas there with Rosie and Em and the boys.

I settle onto my side, propping myself up on one elbow to gaze at him in the dim light of the small lamp on my dresser. He and Annie never look more alike than when they're asleep. The same innocence, the same look of contentment – the peace of having absolute faith that they are loved, cared for and more precious than diamonds. Tonight Edward's lips are parted slightly. The scruff of a couple days' worth of beard growth dusts his jaw. His hair is now a bit shorter than it was when we met, but it's still hopelessly tousled. Last week I noticed the very first silver threads in his temples.

I roll onto my back and relax into the soft, deep pillows. As I always am when he returns from a trip, I'm happy and relieved to have him home safely. I'm also glad he won't have to travel again for a few weeks. We both hated that this last trip came so close to Christmas but in this case it couldn't be helped. His client discovered that their lead competitor had moved up the release date for their new product, which threw everyone at the company into a panic to get their own product out first. Edward discussed it with me before going; the money was such an obscene amount we couldn't turn it down.

Edward took advantage of the trip to combine work with some Christmas shopping. He has some cool, creative toys for Annie that he bought at FAO Schwartz; and tonight when we were putting the presents under the tree, a small mysterious box came out of his locked desk drawer, wrapped with glittering silver paper and a blue bow. He flatly refused to answer any questions about it, other than that the tag has my name on it. It's been a few years since we bought surprise gifts for each other and I'm wildly curious about what it could be. I've bought him tickets for an Ansel Adams exhibit that's coming to Seattle – the man worships Ansel Adams so I'm guaranteed a hit.

My eyes are becoming heavy now and the light still burns on my dresser. I carefully get out of bed and cross the room to turn it out. Turning back to the bed, movement in the streetlight outside catches my eye. I do a double-take before walking slowly to the window to take in the scene.

Fat snowflakes drift silently to the ground, covering the houses, cars, lawns and street with a thick cloak of sparkling white. My first thought is of Annie, and how she'll be bewildered by the Christmas wonderland outside when she wakes up tomorrow. I'm glad Carlisle and Esme live only a few blocks away – if the roads are bad tomorrow morning they can walk over. And I'm sure Edward won't be able to resist the opportunity to get some pictures of us all outside in the snow.

As I slide back into bed I exhale a sigh of deep contentment. I know I'm incredibly lucky, and I'm always aware of that; but it's often only at times like this – Christmas, Thanksgiving, birthdays – that I slow down long enough to really contemplate it. Such a little thing, snow on Christmas Eve, is a reminder of all the little pleasures that combine to create my charmed life.

 

 _**Christmas 2020** _

_Jasper_

"Daa!"

 _No. Too early._

"Daaaaaa!"

I groan and turn down the receiver of the baby monitor beside me. Not all the way down; just low enough that I can hear the talking and gurgling, hoping against hope that the little one making those sounds will give us a break and play quietly in the crib for another half hour or so.

Edward shifts beside me, his own groan echoing my sentiments. "How can any child exist on so little sleep?" he moans, slipping his arms around me to pull me close so he can spoon me.

"How can _we_ exist on so little sleep?" I counter peevishly.

"Shhh, angel," Edward soothes. "You sleep; I'll get up before Annie wakes. At least the babe has no idea it's Christmas – if Annie gets up too you won't be able to stay in bed."

I could almost cry with gratitude for Edward's thoughtfulness, except I'm too tired to cry. He kisses my cheek and gets out of bed, closing the door behind him when he leaves. Just before I switch off the baby monitor I hear him singing a nursery rhyme.

Two hours later I'm awoken again, this time by a six-year-old sticking a landing beside me after she runs and leaps onto the bed. "Daddy, Daddy!" she shouts excitedly. "It's Christmas and Santa came!"

"Morning, Anniegirl," I reply with a grin. It's eight o'clock now, a much more reasonable hour, and the extra two hours of uninterrupted sleep has done me a world of good. "Merry Christmas, sweet pea."

"Merry Christmas!" Annie bounces a few times on the bed, earning her a gentle reminder that she's not allowed to jump on our bed. "Come on, Daddy, get up! Come downstairs! Come see what Santa did!"

"I'm getting up right now, baby girl," I tell her. "You go – I'll be down in five minutes."

"I'll tell Daddy you're coming," she shouts on her way out the door.

True to my word, five minutes later I'm downstairs receiving hugs and kisses from Edward, Annie, and from our son, Marco. This beautiful boy came into our lives fifteen months ago, and has had us on our toes since before he was born.

As planned, we chose not to go the surrogacy route again, instead applying to adopt a child. We never imagined we would be called as quickly as we were – a year after we applied, six months after all the home visits and background checks had been completed and the approval came through. Marco's situation was unique – or, sadly, perhaps not so unique – in that his birth mother Maria was young, afraid, living in poverty…and was HIV-positive. She didn't know she was pregnant until she was twenty-two weeks; she didn't know she was HIV-positive until she went to a free clinic for prenatal care where they did an HIV test. Maria couldn't afford a viral load test, but because of her economic status the state of California provided it for her; and when the viral load indicated that she should start antiretroviral therapy during her pregnancy rather than waiting till delivery, Medicaid covered the cost of her drugs.

When Sherri, the social worker from the adoption agency, called to let us know that there was a possible match for us, she was very honest about the chance that the baby could be HIV-positive as well; and that we wouldn't have a definitive answer for many months after birth. I was furious when I heard that Sherri had run into difficulties with other potential adoptive parents because of Maria's HIV status. I fumed to Edward, "Because a child with HIV doesn't deserve the same love that a typical child does?"

Edward had a much broader perspective on it. "For one thing, not everyone is educated about HIV," he reminded me. "For another, if they don't feel equal to the task of caring for someone with HIV, they definitely should not place themselves in that responsibility for anybody, much less a tiny human who will be their own child."

"What about a parent whose child is diagnosed with cancer?" I'd argued. "I'm sure they'd rather not have to learn about all the awful things cancer does to the body, watch their child suffer through chemotherapy and pain and illness…"

"The difference, Kas, is _choice_ ," he said. "Knowing beforehand that a child you don't know could be sick...I'm sorry but despite my personal feelings I just can't judge someone who decides against it." He could see how upset I was becoming and he took my face gently in his hands, bidding me to calm down. "If we adopt this baby and it turns out he or she is HIV-positive, we will deal with the consequences for the rest of our lives…for the rest of the child's life…and so will Annie." I winced and he nodded gently, knowing that I understood what he was saying. He softly continued, "I know ARVs have come a long way; but it's still not a typical or carefree life. And even if the baby is healthy, it'll be months before we know for sure." He took my face gently in his hands. "Are you prepared for everything this might entail? Are _we_?"

Of course he was right, and his thoughtful assessment was very sobering. I knew he wasn't nixing the idea but rather, as when we were considering the means by which Annie came into our lives, asking for circumspection.

I did suggest that we agree to meet Maria regardless, hoping it might help us with our decision. I also wanted Carlisle's opinion as a physician; and we got in touch with Dr. Matson in Seattle as well. Her assessment was pretty straightforward – that if we did go ahead, she believed we were going into it with open eyes. She did caution us about keeping communication open, and told us not to hesitate to seek preventative counseling. Carlisle's thoughts came not just as a doctor but as a concerned father and grandfather; he mentioned the possible stress to our marriage and to Annie's life. More than that, though, he stressed that he knew we would provide a loving, stable home to any child; that we had our priorities straight when it came to our family; and that he would certainly love to have another grandchild. This last part was added with tongue only partially in cheek; and it was such a Carlisle thing to say. Esme had been dropping not so subtle hints for a year at least; Alice had come right out and asked if we were going to have another. Carlisle, though, never said a word until we brought it up; and then he immediately lent his support.

The meeting with Maria came two days after our conversation with Carlisle. The two of us met her at the adoption agency office on a Wednesday afternoon. Maria was twenty-one and obviously very nervous about the meeting. She had made the decision to place her child for adoption because it was important to her that the baby have loving parents who would be able to provide financially for whatever contingencies may arise, and who could give him opportunities she couldn't. She was as concerned about finding the right parents for her child as we were about the impact this would have on our family, for the same reason: love.

We talked for several hours, her becoming more relaxed and open as the time went on. She was intelligent and well-spoken; she told us she'd done well in high school and wished she could have gone to college, but there was no way her parents could afford to send her. She'd qualified for a partial scholarship but it just wasn't enough. Instead she got a minimum-wage job right out of high school, contributing to the tiny income her family earned. She told us that it was in a moment of recklessness that she had unprotected sex with a stranger after a night at a club, and as a result not only conceived a child but contracted HIV as well.

Who were we to judge? It could just as easily have been one of us in our younger years. Neither of us could conceive, obviously, but even using a condom we were aware that it could only be considered "safer" – not safe by any means, not with a stranger. It was very sobering to see and speak to a living example of what could have happened as a result of the chances we all took.

At the end of our meeting with Maria she told us she would like it if we became the parents to the child she carried. We told her we would take a few more days to consider it and would let her know our decision by the end of that week. That night at home, after Annie was asleep, we talked about our options. We wouldn't have a complete picture of the baby's family genetic history as there was no way to know who the sperm donor was. This was only a minor concern for us, though, given the larger issues at hand.

We mulled it individually for twenty-four hours, or at least, we made a show of mulling. I know my mind was already decided, and though I've never asked Edward, I'm convinced his was as well. When we regrouped to discuss it, we found that our thoughts aligned exactly: we felt strongly that we were the right parents for this baby. He or she was _ours_.

When we called Sherri the next day to tell her our decision, she whooped with excitement and happiness. "Maria is going to be so thrilled and relieved," she told us. "On Wednesday after you left, she was completely convinced that you two were the ones."

That was in mid-June; she was six months pregnant then, with a due date of September 13, 2019 – a Friday, no less. The day before her due date she began having mild contractions, and seventeen hours later, in the wee hours of the morning, we held our son in our arms for the first time. Marco was tiny and perfect, with a very healthy set of lungs and – surprisingly – a shock of red hair. Maria was surprised as well; we had all assumed the baby would have her Hispanic features.

From day one, Marco has turned our lives upside down. He's extremely ambitious, climbs like a monkey and sprints like a cheetah. For the first three months of his life he never slept more than forty minutes at a stretch; we seriously thought we might lose our minds from sleep deprivation. Even now at fifteen months old he is up for the day at six a.m., unfailingly cheerful and raring to go. Between the early rising and the red hair that sticks straight up in the middle, he's earned the nickname Rooster. He naps briefly in the morning and for about an hour in the afternoon; and has never gone to sleep before eight o'clock in the evening.

Though he seems intent on setting a record for sleep deprivation, we've fortunately never had to worry about him starving himself. He has a healthy appetite and has never heard of picky; the only food the child has ever turned down is Brussels sprouts – not that I blame him (they were Edward's idea). He's bright and attentive, sweet, cuddly and lovable. He loves to be read to – reading and meals are the only things he sits still for.

Then, of course, there's the big question, the possibility of him having HIV. No words can express the relief we felt when we received the results that showed he was almost certainly HIV-negative. We had already celebrated his birth and his permanent place in our family, but now we felt free, released to celebrate _life_ – his, ours…life in general. Our parents, family and friends shared our joy; and Annie, who we'd told in an age-appropriate way that Marco needed some special doctor visits, was also happy to know that he wouldn't have to have any extra needles (Annie being terribly afraid of needles, they were the greatest source of concern for her baby brother).

Now, our baby boy is fifteen months old and as healthy as any typically-developing child should be. He and Annie absolutely adore each other. Annie delights in making him laugh, and he is a most obliging audience, busting up into belly laughs when she makes faces or dances for him.

This morning, after kisses and hugs, they sprint to the living room where the tree waits, an abundance of presents beneath it. Edward places a cup of coffee in my hand and wraps his arm around my waist to guide me to the living room. He and I sit on the couch together. Marco toddles around the room chewing furiously on his thumb to ease the ache of his impending molar. Annie, who can read everyone's names for the second year in a row, is in charge of giving out the gifts. She gives us each one to open, also handing me one for Marco, and squeals with delight when she realizes the largest package is for her.

She goes first, tearing the paper from the box to find a three-story wooden dollhouse. The house is lavender with a pink roof and shutters. For a few seconds she's speechless, her mouth opening and closing with no sound, until she begins to jump up and down, screaming. Poor Marco is startled by the noise and plops down on his little backside, his lower lip quivering dangerously. She notices immediately and rushes to his side before Edward and I can even get up. "It's okay, Marco," she soothes, hugging him gently. "Annie's sorry, little Rooster." The tears that seemed ready to fall only seconds ago are forgotten and he's grinning again.

When the presents are opened and the kids are absorbed with their new toys – in Marco's case, absorbed with the boxes and bags – Edward puts his arm around my shoulder and I lean back into him. It's an absolutely blissful holiday scene. Edward and I haven't exchanged expensive gifts this year, choosing instead to invest in a remodel of the kitchen in our lovely home here in San Francisco. We've bought little things for each other, treats we like, that sort of thing.

As I watch the kids my hand goes automatically to the gift Edward gave me when Annie was just a little older than Marco, that mysterious box that came home from New York with him. It turned out to be a platinum necklace with a circle pendant. He had it engraved with two lines from a Philip Sidney poem. On one side, around the face of the pendant it reads, _His heart in me keeps him and me in one_ ; when it's turned over the other side reads, _My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides._ He also gave me a small card with the full text of the poem on it. Aside from my engagement and wedding rings, it's the best gift I've ever received from him. The chain had to be repaired when Marco was nine months old and gave it a sharp tug, but otherwise it's always with me.

It'll be a quiet day here today as we don't have any family coming in to spend Christmas with us this year. I should be sad, and I am, a little. But we'll be going to San Diego to spend New Year's with Rosie and Emmett, so the holidays won't be entirely without family.

Besides that, it's hard to feel too sorry for myself when I consider how fortunate I am to be spending the day with my partner and our beautiful children.

Merry Christmas to me.

 

 _**Christmas** _ _**2043** _

_Edward_

"They had a good day," he comments, his voice interrupting the sudden quiet. Compared to the chaotic noise that's filled our home all day, the peaceful quiet of our living room now feels foreign.

"They did," I agree with an indulgent smile, knowing how special Christmas is, how important it is to him to make the day magical for them.

He grins at my agreement and sits down on the couch beside me, then pivots his body to lean back into me. He sighs as he stretches his legs out along the length of the couch. "What a racket, though," he admits.

"Remember how your dad would have called it a 'joyful noise'," I add gently.

In my arms I feel him cringe slightly at the mention of his dad. This is our first Christmas without Harry, who passed away over the summer. Having lost both my parents in 2040, I understand how difficult this year has been for him. After his dad passed, though, he was adamant that he wanted me continue to talk about Harry, rather than avoiding mention to spare his feelings. I've mentioned several things that reminded me of him over the months since his death. Kas, being the tender heart he is, always responds with a smile when the happy memories surface – sometimes a tear or two. We're lucky that our parents have all had such happy lives. We can remember them with natural sadness but no regrets.

Anneliese is the only parent we have left now. She lives in San Diego where Rosie and Em still live. They spent Christmas there, though she's talked about flying up to see us at Easter. Their boys are now handsome, intelligent young men with families of their own. Brandon and his wife Katherine have eight-year-old twins, Joey & Caroline; Gabriel and his partner Luke are happily child-free and possibly the best uncles ever (aside from Jasper and me, naturally). They have all stayed in Southern California.

Jasper and I are back in Seattle, having returned to the scene of the crime, so to speak – the place where we met and fell in love. We moved back here after we retired, shortly before Carlisle passed away. We took care of him in the last several months of his life when he had trouble getting around. He passed away just nine months after Esme did – almost certainly of a broken heart. He was quite healthy at the time of her death, but afterward it was as though he gave up. As much as he loved his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, without Esme he was lost. He never developed cancer or any terminal illness – he simply failed. Losing both of them so close made it a heartbreaking year for our family, the most difficult we've ever had.

We moved into Carlisle and Esme's house when we were looking after Carlisle; and in the settlement of the estate inherited their home in the Queen Anne neighborhood of Seattle. They had taken great care of the house but it definitely needed some modernization; it seemed stuck in the year 2025. We spent the next year updating the kitchen, the bathrooms…making it into the home where we would spend our retirement. Alice and Ian, having lived in Tokyo for the last twenty years, were simply glad that the home would remain in the Cullen family.

Our children are still on the West Coast as well - Annie and her husband Takeo live in Tacoma with their two-year-old daughter Mia. It was when visiting Alice and Ian in Tokyo after college that Annie met Takeo; within six months he had moved to San Francisco to be with her. Shortly before their wedding Annie's work took them north to Tacoma; and they were very glad that we returned to Seattle within a few years.

Marco and his new wife Olivia are in Portland. Olivia has a four-year-old son from a previous relationship; Ty's biological father is not part of his life and Marco, despite being only twenty-four, has taken to that role as naturally as a fish to water. As part of their wedding ceremony this past June, Marco and Olivia presented Ty with his own "family ring" and the papers that showed that Marco's adoption of him was final. In his speech at the reception, Marco told Jasper and me that he learned from us that what makes a family is not blood; it's not having your father's eyes or your mother's nose. Rather, what binds a family together is love, abiding and unconditional.

It is to this home, then – the Cullen Ancestral Home, Marco calls it – that our family came today for Christmas. Marco, Olivia & Ty drove up from Portland yesterday afternoon and stayed overnight. They're now on their way home now; Annie, Takeo & Mia are also making their way home to Tacoma.

In my arms, Jasper shifts, turning his upper body so his chest presses against mine. "Remember what we used to do every Christmas Eve when we were first married?" he whispers.

"Mmm," I hum in acknowledgment, then add with a chuckle, "Until the kids made that impossible."

"Yeah," he replies quietly. "You know…it's not Christmas Eve, but…" He trails off as his lips find my throat, his tongue coming out to trace a path below my ear, and I shudder delicately. After all these years our passion has not gone out. It's no longer a towering inferno; rather, a bed of coals that burns slow and intensely hot.

Soon my body is responding to the feel of his mouth as it finds the open collar of my shirt. He releases the buttons down the front of the shirt and pulls the tails out of the waist of my pants. His lips and tongue trace my nipples, one then the other, sometimes sucking, sometimes nipping gently. I groan and press my hips up into his body where it lies across my lap so he can feel what he's doing to me, how hard he makes me.

Suddenly he stops, pulling away from me and standing up. "What?" I ask in surprise.

In answer he reaches out to me. I place my hand in his and he pulls me up to him. "Let's go to bed," he suggests with a slow smile.

I nod, and he leads me upstairs to our room. It's the room I had as a child – the traditional master bedroom has been made into a smaller guest room and the ensuite bath now connects to this room instead. In our room, he flips a switch, turning on the white Christmas lights that, along with a length of frothy tulle, decorate the headboard of our four-poster bed. They create a soft, romantic glow in the room – the perfect ambience for our love tonight.

He sits on the bed and beckons me to join him. I slide my shirt off my shoulders and climb beside him. His eyes slide across my bare upper body. Though neither of us are the tight, buff young men we were when we met, I have never seen anything in his eyes except adoration and lust. I feel the same about him. I pull his shirt over his head and feast on the sight before me, the man I've made love to so many times, the body I know as well as my own.

As if reading my thoughts he reaches one hand out to stroke my face, reverently whispering, "Still so beautiful." In answer I lean in to kiss him deeply. Since that day so many years ago when he agreed to take me back, I have yet to look at him without feeling a sense of wonder that he's mine. For the first few years that relief was nearly overwhelming when I allowed myself to think about it; knowing what I had nearly lost, and being so grateful that he allowed me another chance. At this time in our lives I simply bask in the security of his love, knowing that I have guarded the treasure of his love all this time as I promised when I married him.

One by one, articles of our clothing make their way to the floor surrounding the bed. Soon we're naked and I lay him back on the pillows, his body sprawled across the bed. He hums when I go down on him, repeatedly throating his length until he bids me to stop. There no more marathon sessions, coming two or three times in a row…and that's okay. It's no longer about quantity, and completely about quality – mutual pleasure in a relationship that has mellowed with love, trust and wisdom.

He rolls me onto my back and takes my length into his mouth. When his soft lips have brought me to a rock-hard state he spreads some lube on me and then straddles my hips. I watch his face when he slowly lowers himself onto my cock. In his beautiful features I see the man I fell in love with more than thirty years ago – the green eyes, the cleft in his chin, those dimples I adore so much, the wide, sweet mouth. His hair is now cropped quite a bit closer than it used to be, but the evidence of his curls is still visible in the texture. He has never really gone grey or even white; his hair is more of an ash color now instead of the wheaten gold it used to be.

I'm pressed fully into him now – still my favorite place to be – and he leans forward, placing his hands on the bed as he looks into my eyes. "I love you, beautiful," he murmurs.

"My Kas…my angel," I reply in a whisper. "I love you." With those words I flex my hips gently towards him. He hisses softly, his eyes fluttering closed in pleasure. With one hand I reach up to caress his face, my thumb sliding into the dimple on his cheek, then down his neck to his chest, tweaking his nipple.

He begins to rise and fall over me, our bodies moving together in a dance we know so well. It is deep and tender, passionate and sweet and slow. Our ardor builds gradually, with open-mouthed kisses and surging muscles; with gasps, whispered encouragements and moaned endearments. When at last we reach our climax together, it is a glowing-hot fulfillment of everything we've felt for so long, a writhing thrill that erupts from us both.

Afterwards, nestled comfortably together beneath the heavy down duvet on our bed, I hold my husband close, his body fitting perfectly into the nook of my arms where he has resided close to my heart for so long. He falls asleep quickly, exhausted from the bustle and from the way we capped off the evening. As I lie I consider how fortunate we are, how much life has smiled upon us.

From the day I met Kas I began to learn how important it is to express my feelings to my partner. Once I learned that lesson I understood how poetic life can be. At times I look back and it seems like the ensuing years, almost thirty-five years, have been almost too good to be true. I also believe that Kas and I can take credit for that, because we've been ever vigilant, being open and putting our marriage first.

The necklace I bought Kas for Christmas when Annie was a baby now hangs from his bedside lamp. He had a small growth removed from the side of his throat five years ago, and couldn't wear the necklace while it was healing. When it was fully healed he found that, as minimally invasive as the surgery had been, there was scar tissue left that made the necklace uncomfortable for him. So while the pendant no longer lies close to his heart, the verse by Philip Sidney has never been truer. On our thirtieth wedding anniversary the kids held a party for us, and Annie and Marco gave us a framed copy of that poem, written beautifully by hand by one of the kids' friends who practiced calligraphy. The frame hangs on our wall, and though I can only see the outline of the frame in the dark, I know the verse without having to read it.

 _My true-love hath my heart and I have his,_

 _By just exchange one for the other given;_

 _I hold his dear and mine he cannot miss;_

 _There never was a better bargain driven._

 _My true-love hath my heart and I have his,_

 _His heart in me keeps him and me in one;_

 _My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides;_

 _He loves my heart for once it was his own,_

 _I cherish his because in me it bides._

 _My true-love hath my heart and I have his._


End file.
